


The Moment

by NinjaFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11500146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: The entire world, not just the wizarding world, was unknowingly hanging on this moment. A moment that would change the world – for the better, or for the worse. Unfortunately, for Hermione, that moment had passed. Or had it? [Time travel; no Time-Turner. Slow-burn Tomione. Later chapters will be rated M. Enjoy.]





	1. The Ring

**A/N** : Here is your voluntary author's note. I don't particularly feel like saying or giving away much right now, because the enjoyment of reading would be lost then. There are probably some mistakes. I don't have a beta, but I proofread many times. Shoot me a message if you have any questions, and I'll try to answer it as soon as possible. Rated T for now, just in case. Will be rated M later on. This is a  _slow-burn_  Tomione story. Take it or leave it. Honestly, does anyone really read the author's note? You're here to read fanfiction, so let's get to it.

 **Disclaimer** : Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

It was almost the end. Both sides could sense it. The only certainty is that there would be no victory in this, no matter which side won.

A loud crack sounded through the air as centuries old rubble fell to the ground. Hermione threw herself forward ungracefully to avoid the flying debris. She spared not a single moment looking back as Ron helped her up. They made a quick inventory of each other, and then carried on up the staircase. There was yelling and crying and cursing and crashing and carnage everywhere. And blood. There was also blood.

For once, Hermione was having a difficult time focusing. It was too much.

Ron slipped his hand into hers, sensing her stress. His eyes looked worried, but he gave a soft, lopsided grin that she adored and said, "Ready?"

"Yes. Sorry. Of course. Let's go."

They continued up the staircase, hand in hand, with only one goal in mind: The Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

The Chamber was eerie, to say the least. Hermione had been petrified when Harry and Ron came down here, and she was almost glad that she had been. She found it highly improbable that the thirteen-year-old version of herself would willingly slide down a pipe to challenge a basilisk.

Speaking of basilisks, Ron and Hermione were staring at the skeletal remains of one right now. How fortuitous.

Ron walked over to the skeleton and pulled a fang out with a sickening squelch. He walked back to Hermione, who was fishing out Hufflepuff's cup from her purse.

"You do it," Ron said.

She gasped and tried to push it away and said, "I can't."

"Yes, you can," he said as he gently handed her the fang. She nervously grasped it in her palm as Ron carefully laid the cup on the stone floor in front of her. Hermione wasn't sure if she was shaking because of the horcrux in front of her, because of the deadly basilisk fang in her hand, or because of the way Ron was looking at her. Adrenaline was a funny thing.

Hermione knelt with Ron, both hovering over the cup. He gave her one last look that gave her the strength she needed. She brought the fang up above her and slammed it down on the cup as hard as she could.

There was a white flash of light and the sound of brass being dragged across the floor and into the water. Cylinders of water shot up violently around them. Ron and Hermione were backing away in shock and fear, but couldn't look away from the sight in front of them: the shape of  _his_  anguished face was in the water. What sounded like a howl came from the water before it crashed down on them.

They shared a frantic kiss and a smile, knowing that they destroyed another horcrux and that they might not survive to see the next sunrise.

As they were leaving the Chamber, Hermione stepped on uneven ground and would have lost her footing if Ron hadn't been holding her hand. The object she stepped on looked unusual, so she bent down to pick it up.

"What is it?"

Hermione turned it around in her fingers and squinted. It bore a faint hum of magic. She said, "I'm not sure. It looks like some sort of ring or piece of metal. It's covered in muck and it's dark in here, so I can't see it properly."

"I'd leave anything I found in here right where it is, if you ask me," Ron shuddered in reply.

Hermione completely ignored Ron and slipped the bit of metal into her pocket. It's the humming that ultimately convinced her.

"Don't be silly, Ronald. It's not as if it's another horcrux. Whatever it is, it has magical properties that I'd like to study after all this. That means if we plan on surviving this, we need to get back."

She slipped her hand into Ron's and gave it a squeeze. This seemed to bolster his spirits and forget the previous conversation.

"Right you are. Let's go."

She smiled as she slid the fang into her pocket.

* * *

"Harry Potter…is dead!"

People gasped and cried out. The only thing holding Hermione up from her heartache was her unsteady hand gripping on a nearby fallen column. She knew it would happen, but seeing it was so much harder than she thought it'd be. Perhaps an hour wasn't enough time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing your best friend dead at your feet.

Hermione went rigid with a vile feeling. She liked to think herself incapable of hate, but right now it was coursing through her veins. Her eyes leveled on the vile creature speaking in the clearing. She clearly hadn't been listening. Equilibrium took time to calibrate, after all.

Her hand slowly slipped into her pocket and she began carefully fishing for the basilisk fang. It wasn't over yet. Her eyes flicked from Voldemort to the snake. It was stupidly right in front of him. He was irrationally arrogant. All she needed was an opening – a distraction. The entire world would stand a chance once the snake was gone. Hermione swallowed.  _The entire world_ , not just the wizarding world, was unknowingly hanging on this moment. A moment that would change the world – for the better, or for the worse.

How was she going to get the snake separated from its master? Hermione's fingers slid over the cool, smooth surface of the fang in her pocket and slowly began to pull it out. Only she realized that it wasn't the fang. It was the muck-covered hunk of metal she'd found earlier. The dried, crumbled pieces of mud in her pocket was enough to tell her that what she was holding was some sort of bulky ring.

She had a vague awareness of Draco Malfoy being hugged awkwardly by Voldemort. Only a monster wouldn't know how to share a proper hug. Her finger brushed across a nub on the ring. Her eyes narrowed on the vile abomination in front of her. What could possibly make a man turn so evil? The inquisitive nature in her wanted to understand, but it was difficult to fathom.

Hermione's finger continued to press against the side of the ring as she watched Voldemort and his snake in patient anticipation. She felt her face crumple and eyes close briefly as she watched Neville slowly limp forward.  _No_. Nothing was making any sense. Her fingers felt a click.

Her eyes opened in surprise and found  _his_  eyes locked on hers. Her belly filled with cold dread and bile.

The last two thing she saw before the world spun out of control was the unmistakable hint of shock in _his_ eyes, and Harry breaking into a sprint after dropping from Hagrid's arms onto the ground.

The moment had passed.

* * *

Rainy days made for dismal days around here. Not like there was much to do outdoors in the area, but being forced to stay indoors and expected to socialize with such  _ordinary_  people on a Saturday seemed positively barbaric. It wasn't fair.

An old A-model Ford made a turn and drove by, crushing a discarded tin can under its tire. Tom's lips quirked up slightly at the thought of the can being Billy Stubbs' hand instead. Maybe a foot. He wasn't fussy, honestly. Tom was growing tired of Billy's disrespect.

_At least my mum didn't die after gettin' kicked outta the circus! Bet that's why you're so… abnormal!_

Tom's fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill, and he shook in anger. Billy needed to pay, and any type of pain was an acceptable form of currency. Billy  _did_  have that idiotic rodent that he was particularly fond of…

The front door of the orphanage slammed open and there was quite the commotion. Tom quickly pulled himself away from the window and behind a bricked corner, trying to avoid being seen. He wasn't keen on getting a lashing today. He peeked his head around the corner in time to see Mrs. Cole rushing to pick a Bible up off the wooden bench in the entrance hall.

"Set her right here, Edward."

Tom's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the groundskeeper carrying a young, soaking wet girl in his arms.

"Right," Edward grunted in reply before carefully lying her down on the bench. Mrs. Cole looked over the unconscious girl.

"She appears to be alive and uninjured," Edward stated.

"Yes. Poor dear probably got lost in this weather and took a tumble. I'll have to alert the authorities immediately. Edward, be a dear and go fetch her some linens before she freezes to death," Mrs. Cole said and turned to walk away, but changed her mind and continued speaking, "Oh, and could you please tell Martha to put the tea on? I expect the authorities will be arriving soon, and I'm sure it'll help soothe the girl once she gets her bearings."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll see to that right now," Edward said. Mrs. Cole went down the corridor that lead to her office across the hall, and Edward made his way toward the kitchens. Tom sucked in a breath and pressed himself as tight as he could into the corner, closing his eyes, and willing himself to remain unseen. He swore that his thundering heartbeat matched Edward's oafish footsteps. His footsteps had come and gone.

Tom cautiously opened one eye to see Edward lumbering down the hall toward the kitchen. He let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and then peered back down toward the entrance hall at the girl. He knew one of them would be back in a matter of minutes, and wasting time wasn't something that Tom normally did.

The first thing he noticed about the girl in front of him was her clothing. It was so odd. She was wearing some sort of gaudy, salmon colored tunic a monk would wear. What kind of girl would wear a tunic that could be pulled over her head, honestly? It looked to be several sizes too large, too. Tom's eyes narrowed in confusion. And what kind of girl wore denim?

Tom crouched down to look closer at her face. She looked to be around his age, give or take. Brown hair. Fair skin. Freckles. Plain features. Tom huffed out his nose. Utterly  _ordinary_. He bet her name was Mary, Helen, or something else equally  _dull_.

He was getting ready to stand back up and walk to his room when she stirred slightly. He tilted his head to the side. She was grasping something in her hand like her life depended on it. Tom licked his lips. It was a ring, and it was peeking out enough for him to make out its brassy shine.

He wanted it.

So, he took it.

Tom's head snapped up when he heard the muffled voices echoing down the hall. He stuffed the trinket in his coat pocket, picked up the Bible that Mrs. Cole had shoved underneath the bench, and casually made his way back down toward his room.

Tom opened the Bible and pretended to read. He even slowed his stride to make it more believable as Edward passed by him, carrying fresh linens. They shared brief eye contact, an acknowledged nod, and went their separate ways.

The corner of Tom's mouth flinched upward slightly, then his eyes wandered back to the open pages in his hands.

**_Jeremiah 2:26_ ** _\- As the thief is ashamed when he is found, so is the house of Israel ashamed; they, their kings, their princes, and their priests, and their prophets_ _._

Tom slammed the Bible closed and sneered.

The ring bore no weight in his pocket, and wasn't that how guilt was measured? Didn't one need to feel guilt to feel shame? Tom knew he was twisting the verse in his favor, but he honestly couldn't be bothered to care.

The ring hummed quietly in agreement.

* * *

AN: If anyone is interested in checking them out, I have drawn some scenes out of my story and posted them to my LiveJournal. (Username: neptune_babe) I also like to add photographs I've found online to add to the story. I'm a very visual person, so I thought it was a cool idea. I  _plan_  on doing at least one piece of artwork per chapter. It's usually nothing fancy – just some quick charcoal sketches, colored pencil drawings, and sometimes I will do digital artwork if inspiration sinks its fangs into my back. I'll let you know at the end of each chapter if I've done any artwork. The next two chapters are pretty much done - I just want to tweak them a bit more. Anyway, thanks for reading.


	2. A Child's Revenge

**A/N** : Voluntary author's note, once again. Hermione has what I like to call 'convenient amnesia'. I'd also like to mention that we aren't going to spend a horribly long time seeing them at Hogwarts during their beginning years, just bits and pieces. The main focus of the story is when they're older – probably even after Hogwarts, if I get my way.

Happy reading.

**Disclaimer** : Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

The tea tasted stale and weak, but it was a Godsend. Hermione felt like she had more water in her hair and clothes than she had in her system at the moment. It's the one time she'd be thankful for dehydration, because she feared she may start to cry if her body had the capability to produce tears right now. She stared at the swirl of tea leaves settling back to the bottom of her cup. They would have been frustrated tears, of course.

"So, you're telling me that you can remember your name, your age, and even your birthday, but you can't remember where you live or who your parents are?"

Hermione glanced back up at the officer sitting across from her. His moustache was too fluffy for his face, his ears were a bit too big for his head, his belt was much too high on his waist, his helmet strap looked far too pinched, and his suit held far more buttons than seemed practical. She couldn't figure out why, but everything about his uniform was wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Yes. I-I _think_ my name is Hermione. It's the only name that comes to mind," Hermione said. The officer's face grew red with barely contained agitation at her answer.

"Girl, you'd better not be lying to me…" he trailed off, leaving his accusation open in the hopes of Hermione revealing her truths.

"Sir, I promise you that I'm not lying. Why would I be? I have no reason-," Hermione was cut off.

"You could have plenty of reasons! Run off from home and got caught causing mischief and are trying to lie low. Maybe you nicked something. After the Great Slump, it's not uncommon to see urchins running rampant in London!" he said. He showed his agitation by getting up and pacing in front of Hermione. Mrs. Cole watched silently from her chair.

Hermione finally felt the tears well up in her eyes. She guessed the tea had done its duty in regards to hydration. "I'm sorry, sir. I swear that I don't remember anything. I wish I did, but I don't," she was full on sobbing now, "This is already difficult enough for me. Please don't make it more difficult, sir.  _Please_."

His face faltered at her sincerity. Mrs. Cole stood up and gently took Hermione's tea cup from her quivering hands, and set it on the table.

"I think that's enough questions for one day, Mr. Filby. Perhaps we should give Hermione a day or two to rest, and maybe her memory will come back to her?"

Mr. Filby almost looked embarrassed. Almost. He cleared his throat, "Yes, yes. Of course. Would it be an inconvenience to you, ma'am, if Ms. Granger were to stay here for the time being?"

Mrs. Cole gave a tight, but polite smile. She ran an orphanage in London during a recession;  _everything_  was an inconvenience. "Of course, she can stay here for the time being. I believe, if I am not mistaken, she is technically a ward of the state for now. Regardless, it would be a pleasure to offer my assistance."

"I appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Cole. I'll file the paperwork to begin an official investigation once I get back to the station. Please, contact me if you discover any new information. Now, I must bid the two of you a good evening," Mr. Filby said, and gave a polite nod to them. Mrs. Cole and Hermione bid him a good evening, and then he walked out of Mrs. Cole's office.

"Well then, my dear. You look awfully dreary," Mrs. Cole said. Hermione wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, then wrapped the scratchy linens closer to her body. Her drying hair was starting to frizz at the ends. "I don't know what accommodations you're used to, but this isn't The Ritz. What I  _can_  accommodate you with is a quick wash, simple clothing, a modest meal, and a safe place to sleep. Surely this shall suffice?"

Hermione nodded gratefully. It wasn't winter, but she was cold. She attributed it to this place. Hermione hadn't known Mrs. Cole for long, but she could tell that Mrs. Cole was a no-nonsense type of woman, but was fair. Hermione also knew that she had little choice other than to accept the woman's efficient kindness.

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Cole gave a short smile. "Good. Follow me, Hermione, and we'll get your sorted out and settled for the night."

* * *

The stained-glass windows and architecture were the only interesting aspects of this place. There were too many dull voices droning on and on to tune out. There was too much standing up and sitting down again. Far too much crossing yourself in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; and  _far_  too many amens and hail Mary's for his tastes. For a place that was supposed to signify hope and grace, it sure knew how to suck the life out of you. The fact that it was another rainy day probably didn't help matters any.

It was time for communion. Several older children from the orphanage made their way to the front of the sanctuary with the other church-goers and waited in line. Tom was thankful he hadn't been baptized yet, so he wasn't allowed to eat the cruddy wafer. The body and blood of Christ and all that tosh. It was laughable, honestly. It was just cheap wine and stale crackers.

Tom's eyes slid from the children waiting in line to the ones still sitting in the pews in front of him. The new girl was there, sitting next to no one. She was dressed in the standard girls' orphanage attire – a grey, scratchy wool dress with black flats. He'd overheard Eric Whalley telling Johnathan Nichols that her name was Hermione. He'd apparently been incorrect to assume that it was Mary or Helen. Tom looked at her frizzy hair and inwardly rolled his eyes. A peculiar name couldn't make up for how utterly  _ordinary_  she looked.

Communion had finished and Tom's eyes narrowed as he found the back of Billy Stubbs' head. His eyes flicked to the deacon as he began to speak again.

"And the Lord said unto Moses, 'Do not hate your fellow Israelite in your heart. Rebuke your neighbor frankly so you will not share in their guilt. Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord.'," the deacon droned.

The words were like water rolling off a duck's back. The rules couldn't  _possibly_  apply to him.

* * *

The mess hall would have looked more inviting to eat in for lunch, but the rainy weather prevented that from happening. Tin cups and plates were already arranged on wooden tables by the time the children started filing in.

Once she was inside the room, Hermione stepped over to the side to let the other children through. She was still feeling very much out of sorts in this place. Everything felt off. The longest conversation she'd had with any of the children so far was when they'd asked her name, and whether her parents were destitute and sent her here, or if they were dead. The frustration with not knowing the truth still felt fresh when she thought about it.

Unfortunately, she wasn't allowed to think much about it, because hysteria broke out in an instant. There was screaming and crying and pointing to the ceiling. Hermione's eyes lifted to the top of the mess hall.

There, all floppy ears and fluffy bum, was a grey rabbit rotating slowly from twine tied neatly around its neck from the rafters. It was positively barbaric.

Hermione looked back at the pandemonium in front of her. One boy was on his knees, sobbing violently, while being comforted by others. That's when she noticed the dark-haired boy looking almost  _pleased_  at the scene in front of him. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, lost in thought. The boy noticed that Hermione was watching him; so, he schooled his features and walked out of the room.

What a strange boy.

* * *

Mrs. Cole had been furious when she found out about the rabbit. Hermione found out it had belonged to Billy Stubbs – the boy who had been a blubbering mess on the floor. She had been even more furious when no one stepped forward to claim responsibility. As punishment – and to also encourage the culprit to come forward – lunch and dinner had been withheld.

As a result, Hermione's stomach currently felt like it was eating itself.

Hermione pushed down on the loo's handle with a little more force than necessary, and then unlocked the stall door. She had just started washing her hands when the door to the lavatory slammed open and three girls walked in. Hermione gave them a timid smile and continued washing her hands.

"Somethin' funny?"

Hermione stilled and looked at the girls, trying to figure out which one had spoke.

"Sorry?" Hermione asked.

"I  _said_ , 'Is somethin' funny?'", repeated the girl with straw-colored hair and freckles. She looked a year or two older than Hermione.

"Um…no? Did you say something funny?" Hermione was confused. It only took her a moment to sense the trouble beginning to fester like an open wound.

"Hah! Don't play dumb. We  _know_  you did it," the girl said, moving to hold her hands on her hips.

Hermione frowned. "I'm sorry? Did what, exactly?"

"Strung Billy's rabbit up like a bloody fish, that's what," another girl with dark eyes and dark hair shrieked out.

Speaking of a bloody fish, that's probably what Hermione looked like to them as she opened and closed her mouth in indignation. "I did  _not_!"

The straw-haired girl refused to acknowledge her claim, stepped toward Hermione and said, "Maybe we should return the favor and do the same to you!" The water was left running in the sink as the girl shoved Hermione with both hands, causing her to land on her bum with a muffled thud.

"Come on, Amy! Stop it!" the third girl pleaded, "Mrs. Cole will give us all a serious lashin' if she finds out about this!"

"Stay  _out_  of it, Sarah," Amy hissed out between her teeth, then continued after Hermione, "Maybe  _we_  should string  _you_  up by the neck and hang  _you_  from the rafters."

Amy grabbed a fistful of Hermione's hair and tugged it upward, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Hermione, and more pleading from her friend to stop. Amy ignored them both.

"Want to know the funny bit, yeah?" Amy whispered as Hermione felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks, "The rabbit would be more missed than you."

Hermione was scared and was crying and was  _desperate_  for Amy to stop.

There was a rattling noise coming from the sink. The faucet shot clear off across the room, shattering the tiled wall on impact. A furious jet of water shot out of the sink at Amy, knocking her flat on her back and drenching her from head to toe in a beat.

Hermione stared at Amy in shock; she was watching Amy panic, slipping and sliding, trying to get away from the water, but it was no use – it was like it was following her every move.

The water started to finally die down. That was when Amy, Sarah, and their friend ran out of the lavatory without sparing a glance back at Hermione. She may be a girl, but she didn't understand how so many girls could be  _so_  irrational. Especially  _hungry_ , irrational girls.

Hermione tentatively picked herself up off the floor, checking herself for injuries. Her bum was sore from the fall, and she felt a little jittery, but she was otherwise in perfect condition.

She turned her attention to the sink. The water was gently bubbling up from the hole where the faucet had been. She turned the handle and watched the water stop flowing. She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned.

She was dry.

Hermione quickly wiped the tears welled up in her eyes, and took in her surroundings: the entire lavatory was flooded, yet she was dry.  _Illogical_.

Hermione left the loo and chuckled when she saw the trail of water leading down the hall. She turned the opposite way, deciding to go to her room to read the only book that was there.

She took two steps before she noticed the dark-haired boy from the mess hall earlier. He was just standing there in the hallway, all creepy-like. He didn't say anything - just looked down the hall where the girls ran, then back to her. It made her slightly uncomfortable. She refused to show it. Hermione stuck her nose up in the air as she brushed past him, and went back to her room.

What an  _unusual_  boy.

* * *

The stupid thing must be broken. Tom discovered that the ring could be opened. It was a clock, but it wasn't ticking. No matter how many times he tried turning the crown,  _nothing_  happened. Nothing.

Although…

Sometimes the ring felt like it was thrumming in his pocket at random moments throughout the day. Maybe the wheels were turning? Wouldn't it tick instead of vibrate, if that were the case? Was he going mad? No, that wasn't possible. Tom wasn't mad. Tom was  _special_.

He set the ring back in the box next to the other things that had been… _transferred_  to him, and put the box away in his wardrobe.

The memory of a soaking wet Amy Benson bursting out of the girls' lavatory followed by the new girl moments later surfaced to the front of his brain. Her common eyes had been speculating  _him_  instead of the rabbit earlier, too.

Maybe she wasn't so  _ordinary_ , after all.

* * *

**A/N** : I'm finding that I love writing Tom's inner dialogue more than I thought I would. I'd like to note that my personal theory of Tom's hatred toward Muggles stems from growing up in a strict, religious environment as a child. There are some photos on my LiveJournal for Chapter Two for visual aesthetics, if anyone wants to look. (Username: neptune_babe) I am making the entries public now, since I realize that not everyone has a Livejournal. It's finals week for me (summer semester), so no time for any drawings this chapter.

Thanks for reading.


	3. Taming One's Temper

**A/N** : I posted just one drawing of Tom and Hermione for this chapter on my LiveJournal (username: neptune_babe). Nothing much to say for now, other than thanks for the kudos. Enjoy.

 **Disclaimer** : Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

 

It was Monday morning and Hermione still couldn't remember anything important. She had had a strange dream about a large snake slithering over rocks; which then turned into her laying in a field of warm grass next to a lake, playing with a beautiful feather in her hand. Those were obviously useless bits of information to give Mrs. Cole. Would she ever remember?

Mr. Filby hadn't even bothered to stop by. Mrs. Cole had called Hermione into her office to tell her that he'd rung earlier and said that there was no new information, then proceeded to ask her if she remembered anything. Hermione told her the truth: she could remember nothing.

If truth be told, Hermione thought she'd been called into Mrs. Cole's office over the incident from the day before. Thankfully, that hadn't been the case. Amy's friend must have been right about Mrs. Cole handing out punishments. Hermione told herself that she'd have to stay on Mrs. Cole's good side if she were forced to remain here.

Hermione had overheard the groundskeeper telling Mrs. Cole earlier that one of the pipes burst in the girls' lav. Something about the pressure. She didn't know why she felt relieved when she heard it, but she did.

Hermione had also felt relieved when Mrs. Cole told her that she'd be joining the other children in their lessons, starting today. The older woman muttered something about work and idle hands, whatever that meant.

* * *

 

Hermione could confidently say that she might rather sit in her room all day and stare at the wall. It wasn't because the lessons were boring – far from it. The lesson was the  _only_  reason why she was forcing herself to remain vigilant. It was the accusing looks the other children were giving her that was making her reconsider her previous relief.

Amy must have spread around the entire orphanage that Hermione was responsible for what happened to the rabbit; and of course, they were quick to believe it, because  _no one_  had whispered a single breath about being responsible for the crime. Children  _always_  talked. Additionally, Hermione was new. The odds that anyone would believe her weren't in her favor.

She had an idea, though – a speculation, really.

Hermione was observant. She noticed things. No one spoke to  _him_ , either. No one went near him. He was avoided like a plague. Her eyes cautiously slid over to the boy sitting two desks over from her next to the window. She quickly found her breath caught in her throat and her eyes darted back down to the small chalkboard sitting on her desk. Her face felt like it was caught on fire.

He was  _staring_  at her oddly again.

Hermione slid her bum down further in her seat in a poor attempt to make herself smaller.

Great. Even the  _weird_  one thought she killed the bloody rabbit. How could her life get any worse?

* * *

I  _had_  become worse. She had become the orphanage outcast.

The mess hall was filled with chatter and the sound of tin bumping up against wood; but Hermione sat by herself in the far corner of the room, absentmindedly watching her thin porridge drip from her spoon. A tin bowl slammed down on the table in front of Hermione, causing her to jump, and the rest of the porridge left on her spoon went flying across the table.

"Oops," she said, sounding embarrassed.

The dark-haired boy looked slightly disgusted at the mess in front of him, but he sat down anyway.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she replied cautiously, frowning slightly.

They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, then Tom started eating his porridge. He said nothing else for the rest of the meal. Hermione didn't either. She wasn't about to complain. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to have a conversation with him, honestly.

After the boy was done eating, he stacked his cup and utensils in his bowl in the most calculating way Hermione had ever seen, got up, and walked away without a word. She noticed that the many faces that had been watching them suddenly found their porridge  _much_  more interesting than it should have been.

Well, that was unusual.

* * *

Tom had discovered it; the reason why the ring seemed to thrum to life at random times: it was  _her_.

It had been silent while he was in his room making his bed that morning.

It had a sleepy awakening during lessons. As soon as she walked into the classroom, it had started to hum dully. Tom had a theory and decided to test it during lunch. His theory had been correct.

It sang to life when he sat down across from her, almost as if it was trying to get her attention. But that was a load of tosh – rings couldn't tell if someone was nearby.

So why? Was it because it  _used_  to belong to her? Did she do something to it? Tom didn't like not knowing things.

Tom scrutinized the ring in his palm.

It was equal parts terrifying, frustrating, and exhilarating.

* * *

The rest of the week had been the same as Monday: chores, suspicious looks during lessons, quiet Bible study before bed, and the boy, who's name she'd found out was Tom Riddle, sitting quietly with her at meals. It was less awkward now. They still didn't say much to each other, but it was nice to have someone who didn't completely avoid her. Loneliness made the orphanage cold, even though it was the middle of May. Tom's distant presence made it slightly warmer.

Hermione was beginning to worry. Mr. Filby had the same news as before for her: no news at all. No one by the last name of Granger had reported that their child was missing. Maybe she really was a street urchin.

She cried herself to sleep most nights, praying to God that she would wake up in the morning and not be in the orphanage.

* * *

The ring sang to life in his blazer pocket when Hermione slid into the pew next to him. Tom side-glanced at her and said nothing. She was tolerable, at best. A bit of a wiseacre in class when she recited answers like she was reading straight out of a text book, but she wasn't disrespectful or mean like the other children at the orphanage were. He endured her presence solely for the sake of understanding the ring.

Tom watched her as she frantically flipped through the pages of her Bible. Her bushy hair and panicked, wide eyes made her look like something feral. The corner of his mouth twitched. At least she was mildly amusing.

"'Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you'," the deacon began preaching, "Ephesians Four: 31 and 32. These verses teach mortal men about the grace and forgiveness that is found by taming one's temper, to cast aside all bitterness and anger, and to be more like Him."

The anger and bitterness was too heavy to cast away. The rage was churning in his chest at the man's words. Why should he forgive those that have wronged him? He had done nothing to deserve it. Why did God never punish those that earned it? If God was so great, why did he let his mother and father leave him alone in this world? Why was he always hungry? If He was so full of love and grace, why was this world so cold and cruel?

His eyes narrowed on the flames of the candelabra standing next to the deacon, and he willed them to combust.

Tom typically preferred order, but the chaos that erupted in front of him had never felt so satisfying. People were rushing up, smothering the flames that had caught ahold of the deacon's sleeve.

He looked at Hermione when he heard her gasp. It wasn't the gasp that unsettled his mind – it was the fact that she wasn't looking at the scene of the deacon being lit on fire like everyone else. No. It was the fact that her wide eyes were looking at  _him_.

Her expression unsettled him, but he refused to show it. Tom raised an eyebrow calmly and did his best to ignore her reaction. He looked back up at the deacon. They'd put out the flames. The old coot managed to escape unscathed.

Pity.

* * *

Hermione had planned to enjoy the fact that this was the first day since arriving where the weather was beautiful, but her mind had gone into overdrive. The event during mass had unsettled her. She could have sworn she felt some sort of…shift right before the poor deacon caught on fire. At first, she thought that maybe the Holy Spirit was finally making its presence known to her, just like Martha had told her it would; but deep down, she knew that wasn't true.

That shift was the first familiar feeling she'd felt since waking up her first night in the orphanage. Hermione was a bit cautious of him right now, but she clung to the familiarity that resonated off him like a vine. She chose to walk next to him on the way back to the orphanage, regardless of how uneasy she felt.

She had no evidence, and it made no logical sense,  _and_  she felt absolutely  _mad_  for thinking it, but she somehow  _knew_  that Tom caused the fire to catch. She thought about the incident in the girls' lav, but quickly pushed it out of her mind. Hermione decided to try to strike up a conversation with him, instead.

"That was interesting, wasn't it? I'm glad he wasn't hurt," she said to him as they walked at the back of the group.

Tom scoffed at her comment and said, "That's the most interesting thing that has  _ever_  happened during mass."

"You hate going," she said knowingly. It wasn't a question.

Tom glanced at her for a moment, then looked ahead again as they walked. He shoved his fists in his pockets and said in a flat tone, "I can't hate going. That would be a sin."

" _I_  don't think it's a sin to not like doing something. There's a difference between  _hating_  doing something, and being hateful about it," she said carefully.

"Don't let the nuns or Mrs. Cole hear you say that. You'll get a ruler across the back of your hands faster than you could blink," Tom said coldly. Hermione's mouth snapped shut and her eyes went wide. She shuddered just  _thinking_  about Mrs. Cole or the nuns punishing her. She decided to change the subject.

"So, what do you usually do after mass when the weather is nice?"

Tom didn't get the chance to answer her. Right after Hermione asked him her question, a boy tripped him. Tom fell forward, sharp and hard, onto the sidewalk. His knees were dirty and his palms were scraped. Hermione's head snapped up to the boy, who looked about fourteen. He was laughing at Tom.

"Uh-oh, Tom. Looks like you fell down again. You really  _should_  be more careful, you know," said the boy.

"Fell? You tripped him on purpose!" Hermione said indignantly, feeling her face turning red.

"Nah, he fell," the boy sneered.

"Liar!" Hermione yelled. She bent down to help Tom up.

"Look! Tom's ickle girlfriend is helping him up! How quaint!" the boy laughed. Some of the other children that had stopped to watch laughed with him, Amy Benson included. Hermione really didn't care for that girl.

Tom's face turned red and he swatted Hermione's hand away without looking at her. Hermione tried her best to not look offended, and watched him stand back up on his own. Was he shaking?

"She's  _not_  my girlfriend, Dennis," Tom ground out between clenched teeth. Dennis raised his eyebrow and looked between the pair of them.

"Oh, she's not? I thought that's why you were always around her. Maybe she should be. She seems suited for you, since you're both so...queer," said Dennis with another sneer. Hermione vaguely wondered if his face was stuck like that permanently.

That's when Hermione felt it again – the shift. Tom was all frowns and flaring nostrils and clenched fists. She was frantically trying to think of a way to diffuse the situation before Dennis, or someone else for that matter, got hurt.

"What's going on here?"

Hermione had  _never_  been more relieved to see Mrs. Cole. She jumped forward to explain before anyone else had the chance.

"Tom tripped and fell down, Mrs. Cole! We were just checking to see if he was alright. You're alright, aren't you, Tom?" Hermione asked him quickly with pleading eyes. Tom's eyes leveled on hers with a fire that made her slightly uneven, but she held his gaze.

"I'm fine," he said, never breaking eye contact with Hermione.

Mrs. Cole was assessing the situation and didn't seem entirely convinced. She nodded and turned back to head to the front of the group. The other children followed her.

Tom held his fiery glare on her for several seconds. Hermione  _knew_  what this was and frowned at him – she refused to back down. His nostrils flared in agitation once more before he broke eye contact and stalked away.

Hermione had found out what Tom enjoyed doing on a beautiful day like today: completely ignoring her existence.

* * *

Tom hadn't just ignored her all the rest of Sunday – he continued to ignore her throughout the week, as well. He still sat with her at meals, and that was the extent of it.

Hermione decided that if he was going to ignore her, then she was going to ignore him, too. She quickly found out that her ignoring him didn't matter to Tom. What was the point of playing this game when both participants weren't winning? It annoyed her to no end.

Hermione's annoyance didn't mean that she was unaware of the calculating looks Tom was giving Dennis Bishop when he thought no one was paying attention. Hermione was  _always_  paying attention.

It felt like the air around Tom was in a constant state of turbulence. It made Hermione anxious. Very,  _very_  anxious.

* * *

The beach was all rocks and seaweed and salty wind. The children had been getting restless from being forced to stay indoors for the past week because of the dreary weather, so Mrs. Cole and Martha had taken them on a day trip; to get fresh air in their lungs and appreciate God's handiwork, Mrs. Cole had said.

The weather wasn't favorable for an outing, but at least it was only somewhat overcast and not raining. It was a small favor, to be sure. It meant that it might be the first truly enjoyable day Hermione had had all week, what with Tom ignoring her and all. He may be ignoring her, but she still stayed nearby him when she could. If it bothered him, he didn't say so. While his presence comforted her, she was also afraid of what might happen if she let him out of her sight.

Hermione and Tom watched the other children walking around the rocky beach, wading up to their calves in rock pools, looking for sea creatures.

Tom looked at Hermione oddly when she plopped down on a rock and started removing her shoes and stockings.

"You actually enjoy participating in this nonsense?" Tom asked her. Hermione looked at him and blinked several times, lost in thought.

"I honestly don't know," she said as she wiggled her toes, "I can't remember. I guess I'm about to find out if I enjoy it or not. Are you coming?"

Tom scoffed. "No. I have better things to do with my time."

"Suit yourself, then," Hermione said as she stood up, "Maybe I'll bring you something interesting, since you're too busy to participate in this  _nonsense_."

Tom gave her an odd look, but she chose to ignore it. Hermione wasn't about to not participate in a learning experience just because he was being miserable creature.

After searching through rock pools for some time, Hermione had decided that the experience wasn't too horrible. It was cold and wet, but the exhilaration she felt when she found something new was amazing. Hermione had found two medium-sized whelk shells and the spiraled remains of a dried whelk egg case. That's what Martha told her they were, anyway. She couldn't wait to show Tom and tell him what he missed out on.

That's when she realized something: Tom was nowhere to be seen. Her eager mood was soon washed over with cold dread. She frantically took a head count of the other children spread out across the beach.

Dennis was gone.

Hermione dropped the whelk egg case on the ground, and shoved the shells in her dress pocket. She needed to find them.

"Oi, Sarah! Have you seen Amy?" Hermione heard the vile, dark-haired girl that had yelled at her in the lavatory ask Sarah.

Hermione watched Sarah look over her shoulder to make sure Mrs. Cole and Martha were out of earshot before she said, "She probably snuck off with Dennis Bishop again. Attached at the hip lately, those two."

Hermione's eyes widened. She needed to find Tom, and she needed to find him  _now_.

* * *

**A/N** : Boom. I should have the next chapter up by next week, unless I decide to post it sooner. Thanks for reading.


	4. Lex Talionis

**A/N** : Just one piece of artwork for this chapter. It's posted on my DeviantArt (androideighteen) and my LiveJournal (neptune_babe). Nothing else to say for now, aside from thanks for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks. It's the fuel for my fire.

**Disclaimer** : Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

It didn't take long before Hermione felt Tom. There, all turbulence and fire and rage, by the cliff at the far end of the beach. The only question was: how in the world was she going to get to the cliff? She watched waves crash against jagged rocks at the base of it, feeling overwhelmed.

Hermione glanced around her to make sure no one was looking. She saw Martha holding a starfish in her hands, and most of the children were surrounding her, trying to get a closer look. It was her chance. Hermione inhaled hard and bolted to the cliff's base, throwing herself behind a nearby boulder.

"Where are they? Where  _are_ they?" Hermione asked herself out loud, frantically searching and trying to pinpoint where Tom's energy was coming from. She was terrified by the thought of what was happening – by what he could be doing. She wouldn't say they were  _friends,_ exactly, but he was the closest thing she had to one. She didn't want him to get in trouble.

She pressed her back flat against the boulder she was leaning against and closed her eyes, her tears starting to sting them. She wanted to find Tom  _so_ very much.

Hermione unexpectedly felt like her navel was being dragged backwards and the sensation made her gasp.

* * *

The cave was unnatural and seemed to be bled of any kind of color. The stalagmites growing from the cave floor looked like crystals desperately reaching for the ceiling. Too bad they would never get there.

Tom was staring down at the comatose forms at his feet. Even  _they_  looked to be bled of color, but it could just be a result of their punishment.

He felt his body tense and his eyes widen when the ring began to quiver in his pocket.  _Impossible_. He adjusted his face before slowly turning around to see Hermione's eyes narrowed on him.

"Tom Riddle, what in the  _world_  are you doing?" Hermione asked shrewdly, her voice only shaking slightly. Tom ignored her question. He was far more interested in something else right now.

"How did you get here?" he asked her, feeling guarded.

Hermione's expression faltered at his question. She blinked several times and stuttered, "I-I actually have absolutely  _no_  idea…"

Tom frowned at her answer. Was it possible that she…? No. That wasn't possible.  _He_  was special. Tom was brought out of his train of thought by Hermione's ceaseless pestering.

"Don't change the subject! What did you  _do_  to them, Tom? You didn't…" she inhaled, "you didn't  _kill_  them, did you?"

Tom scowled at her. Was she dense? He had gotten the impression that she was a rather intelligent girl.

"Of course not," he said.

"Then what did you  _do_?" she repeated, seeming agitated.

Tom ignored her question again. He was too distracted now, not like he was going to answer her, anyway. What was this foreign sensation in the air? He watched Hermione's hair begin to frizz at the ends. It reminded him of when his hair would stick up if his blanket rubbed over his head too quickly.

"Are you going to say anything?" Hermione ground out. Tom would have possibly laughed at her fit in any other situation. She was trying to look intimidating with her angry face, her hands on her hips, and her ridiculously frizzy hair. It was like watching a kitten trying to be a lioness. It was a pathetic display, but mildly amusing.

Tom crossed his arms. His lips curled to form a half smirk, half sneer before he said, " _No_."

Wrong answer, apparently. Tom felt the air rush out of his lungs when he was flung back on his bottom between Amy and Dennis. His eyes went wide with bewilderment, trying to comprehend what had just happened. What  _had_  just happened? He stared at her. Hermione was wearing the same expression as Tom: bewilderment.

"What – how –", Hermione stammered, rubbing her fingertips against her wool dress, as if she were trying to rub dirt from them.

Tom narrowed his eyes and brought himself up slowly, watching her suspiciously. He felt several emotions all at once: anger, confusion, jealousy, and curiosity. The latter emotion was fighting for control.

"How did you do that?" Tom asked her. Hermione quickly pulled her features together into a neat mask of stoicism.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said as she scrunched her nose and crossed her arms. Tom took a step forward, which caused Hermione's expression to falter slightly.

"Really, Hermione? Because I think that you  _do_  know what I'm talking about," Tom said, giving her a dark look. She gave his dark look right back to him.

"And I think you  _do_  know what you did to them, Tom," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. Tom hadn't thought his scowl could get any deeper: but it did.

"They deserved to be  _punished_ ," he spat out, his tone far too hostile for an eleven-year-old boy to possess.

"Who died and made you the one to decide who should and shouldn't be punished?" she asked in a huff.

Tom clenched his fists in anger, irritated with her attitude. He pulled his eyes away from her, suddenly finding the small pile of rocks next to Amy's head far more interesting than the prospect of answering Hermione's inquiry. His thoughts were flying, but then he decided to settle them and sent the rocks flying instead.

It had been a speculation, really. A speculation he'd proven correct. Tom felt like he should have been surprised when the rocks turned to sand right before they would have hit Hermione, but he couldn't bring himself to be. He watched her closely; her arms were shaking at her sides, her eyes were wide, and her mouth was formed into a  _stupid_ , little circle. Judging from her expression, Tom was assuming that her reaction to the rocks was unintentional. He scoffed –  _reflexes_.

"Interesting," he said coolly. Hermione blinked rapidly at his statement, as if she was trying to wake herself up. Tom smirked to himself. Too bad for her; this wasn't a dream.

" _What_  is interesting? Oh, forget it! I don't even understand what in the  _world_  is happening right now! We need to bring them  _back_ , Tom. Do you really want to get in trouble for this?" Hermione said, motioning toward the children passed out on the cave floor, " _Additionally_ , this place is creeping me out and I want to  _leave_.  _Now_."

Tom pointed his eyes at her in suspicion and asked, "Are you telling me that you don't…plan…on telling Mrs. Cole about this?"

He watched as Hermione shifted uneasily before saying, "While I think what you did was  _wrong_  – well,  _whatever_ it was that you even  _did_  – I'm not planning to tell on you,  _no_."

Tom was far too pessimistic to believe her. "Why not?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment before saying, "Because I don't like the idea of you getting punished."

Tom's eyes widened slightly at her words. She didn't want to see  _him_  get punished? Why should she even care? She had no reason to care what happened to him.

"Plus, a  _very_  small part of me believes that they  _might_  have deserved it," Hermione stated, her eyes lingering on Amy's form for a few seconds before looking back at Tom. "That doesn't mean I think it's right, of course."

Tom narrowed his eyes again and said nothing. His normally calculating mind was an untidy mess. This was  _not_  how he'd planned this event to go. It was supposed to be simple, but Hermione had gone and mucked it all up. Well, he supposed she didn't  _strictly_  ruin his plans, but still. He was distracted from his thoughts by her voice.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, reaching into her pocket. Tom watched her pull something out as she walked over to him. "Here. I found this and wanted to give it to you."

Tom frowned at her words and hesitantly accepted the shell from Hermione. He stared at it in confusion for several seconds before looking back at her.

"You said it was a waste of time. I wanted to prove you wrong," she said.

He didn't know whether to stare at the shell, or to stare at her. He had always taken what he wanted. No one had willingly given him anything before. It was a foreign concept to grasp.

" _Nothing_  is a waste of time, Tom."

Tom raised his eyebrow at her statement and put the shell in his pocket. He felt it knock against the ring, which was still alive at her proximity. There was proof in his pocket to back up her claim, and he wasn't talking about the silly shell.

"I see."

* * *

"Meet me in the laundry room in ten minutes."

Hermione's head shot up from her bowl of porridge to see Tom's dark grey eyes boring into hers. He didn't wait for her to reply; he simply turned and left the mess hall without another word. Hermione glanced around her to see if anyone else had heard him, but no one else seemed to have paid them any attention. Pure hunger was the only reason Hermione was forcing herself to finish the tasteless porridge as quickly as possible. She picked up her dishes and set them in their designated wash bins before making her way to the laundry room.

She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't nervous. Why did Tom want to meet her? She slowed her pace. What if he was planning to do something to her? Was he going to try something weird like he did at the beach the day before? Amy and Dennis both woke up right after they left the cave, but they hadn't said more than a few words since then. Thinking back to their blank stares during breakfast sent a shiver down her spine. Was Tom planning on doing the same to her? Maybe she shouldn't go, after all.

Unfortunately, it was too late to change her mind. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand was turning the brass doorknob to the laundry room and pushing the door open. The humidity from the steamers forced Hermione to momentarily struggle for air. She noticed several sheets hanging up to air dry. Probably because it was raining – again. Where was Tom?

"You're late."

Hermione yelped and whirled around to see Tom smirking at her. She crossed her arms and clicked her tongue before saying, "You startled me!"

"You'll live," Tom shrugged at her. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"Well? Why am I here?" Hermione asked him. Tom considered her for a moment.

"Yes, that is a  _very_  good question," Tom began to circle her and continued, "Why  _are_  you here, Hermione?" He stopped in front of her again.

Hermione looked at him like he was stupid and raised an eyebrow, "Because you asked me to. I  _meant_ ,  _why_  did you ask me here?"

Tom tilted his head to the side and looked at  _her_  like she was stupid, "You really have no idea, have you?"

"Just because your last name is Riddle, doesn't mean you need to speak in them," Hermione said sarcastically, which caused Tom's mouth to tug up slightly.

"What you did in the cave: that wasn't your first time doing something like that, was it?" Tom asked, looking somewhat excited.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Hermione said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with the way Tom was looking at her.

"Maybe I should go ask Amy's friends about the day they ran out of the girls' lavatory sopping wet," Tom said casually.

Hermione's eyes got wide. "The pipes…the pipes had too much pressure and they – they burst," she muttered out.

"Why do you lie to yourself? You saw what  _both_  of us can do yesterday," Tom sneered, then continued in a low, excited whisper, "We can do things, Hermione. Things that no one else can do. We can make things move by just willing them to. If we focus hard enough, we can disappear and then appear somewhere else out of thin air. We're  _special_ , Hermione."

The humidity was making it difficult to breath, or was it because of what Tom was saying? She knew that  _he_  could do things, but her? Maybe she  _was_  in denial. Fear was a controlling emotion.

"I can teach you how to control it," he said. Hermione's fear was cast away as her ears perked up at his offer. A learning experience was a learning experience, after all.

"You can?" she asked.

Tom nodded, "Yes."

The seconds ticked by quietly as Hermione observed him cautiously, considering his offer. If she could learn how to do the things Tom could do, then maybe she would be able to keep him out of trouble. Also, on the plus side, maybe she could use her  _special_ ness to find her family.

Hermione nodded, "Alright. Teach me."

Tom smiled the first real smile Hermione had ever seen him do. Her heart fluttered. She decided he looked slightly handsome when he smiled like that, but she mostly thought he looked mad.

"Perfect," he said, his smile widening.

Hermione also thought that she didn't like the way he was looking at her like she was a new toy to play with.

* * *

Two weeks had come and gone since Tom had figured out that Hermione was the same as him.  _Special_. They spent all their free time together, practicing in secret whenever they could. She wasn't as good at it as he was, but she was making steady improvement. Tom frowned to himself. Now that he thought more about it, he wasn't quite sure he wanted her to be better at it than him. At first, he had been annoyed that someone else other than him was  _different_. But now he found it thrilling, because he wasn't so  _bored_  anymore. He should have known that she was different as soon as he discovered how the ring reacted to her.

The ring was still a mystery to Tom. He wanted to understand it – to  _know_  it. He sat down on his bed and pulled the ring out of his pocket, turning it over in his fingers. It was lifeless now. It still hadn't worked at all, which was irritating.

He jumped when there was a knock at his door, and quickly slid the ring back into his pocket. Mrs. Cole opened the door. He noticed an oddly dressed man standing behind her.  _Wonderful_. She kept true to her word and called for him to get looked at. He guessed that the incident with Amy and Dennis was the final straw for Mrs. Cole. The woman had no proof that he did it. It took all his willpower to not smile at the thought that they still hadn't fully recovered from their punishment. Served them right.

"Tom, this is Albus Dumbledore. He's come to speak with you," Mrs. Cole told him.

Tom narrowed his eyes. The oddly dressed man named Albus Dumbledore had come to visit  _him_? Shouldn't they have found someone who looked more  _sane_  to work for an asylum? His fashion sense alone was mad enough to earn  _him_  a lobotomy.

It didn't take Tom very long to somewhat regret his earlier thoughts about the man. Albus Dumbledore had come to tell him about a special school for children like him, like Hermione. Tom was a  _wizard_ ; he knew all along that he wasn't mad.

The power Albus Dumbledore displayed when he set Tom's wardrobe on fire made Tom feel hungry, and not in the sense where food would satisfy it. He'd also been thankful that he'd put the ring in his pocket, otherwise the old man might have told him to give it back, like the other things in his hidden box. Dumbledore bid his goodbyes to Tom and went to leave. Tom didn't like that there was yet  _another_ person who was special like him. He was about to ask the man if he could speak to snakes, too, when he suddenly thought of Hermione. Tom would never admit it, but he felt panic suddenly twist in his gut when he remembered her.

"Are you here to see Hermione, too?" Tom asked.

Dumbledore paused in the doorway and turned around. He had a puzzled look on his face when he asked, "Hermione?"

"She's here – at the orphanage. She's special.  _Like us_ ," Tom said quietly. Professor Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock. Tom enjoyed the small victory of knowing something that the old man didn't.

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

Tom nodded only once. Albus smiled.

"Thank you for telling me, Tom. It seems I should pay your friend a visit before I take my leave," he said to Tom before he left. The old coot didn't even have the proper manners to say goodbye. Tom rolled his eyes.

At least he was going to speak to Hermione. The panic left him and he was flooded with relief. Tom would never admit to feeling that, either.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore rarely had a day where he was caught off guard, but for today, he made an exception. This girl, this Hermione – he didn't recall seeing her name in the Book of Acceptance. Maybe she hadn't performed strong enough accidental magic yet to qualify for a place at Hogwarts?

"Pardon me, Mrs. Cole, but I need to speak with another one of your wards before I depart," Albus said.

"Oh?" Mrs. Cole gave a concerned look, "Which child, may I ask?"

"Tom tells me that her name is Hermione. If you could be so kind as to bring me to her, I would greatly appreciate it," he said. He watched her concerned look turn into shock.

"Mr. Dumbledore, whatever Tom has told you, I can assure you that Hermione had nothing to do with the incident I told you about. She is probably the most well-mannered child in this establishment," Mrs. Cole told him.

"Oh, no need to concern yourself over that. I don't think she's responsible for anything. Tom spoke of her and I'd just like to meet her, if that's alright," he said, giving Mrs. Cole a reassuring smile. He never told the woman that he was a doctor, but he wouldn't lose any sleep tonight by using her assumption to his advantage. Her face lit up with realization.

"Yes, of course. Follow me," she said, and they began walking down the hallway. As they made their way to Hermione's room, she continued, "It makes sense that you'd want to speak with Hermione. They've been almost inseparable since she arrived here last month."

"She hasn't been here long, then?" he asked casually.

Mrs. Cole shook her head.

"Forgive me for sounding insensitive, but do you know what happened to her parents?" Albus asked wisely. Mrs. Cole stilled suddenly, her eyes widened in shock.

"Praise be to the Lord! Is that why you're here? Do you know where her parents are?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Albus felt bewildered at her question. "No, I'm afraid not. Were you expecting me to?" He watched Mrs. Cole's face fall slightly before she went back to her rigid, yet serene look.

"No, but I have been remaining optimistic over the matter. Poor girl…", she trailed off to herself before continuing, "The groundskeeper found her passed out in the alleyway one day. It had been raining all day; the poor thing was soaked through. We brought her in and reported that we'd found her to the authorities. I figured once she woke up, she would tell us who she was and where she lived, and that would be the end of that; but it wasn't. She woke up remembering nothing, save for her name. The police have been searching London high and low, trying to find her parents, but I believe they've given up by now. It's been weeks, after all."

Albus listened intently. His curiosity was piqued. If what Tom said about her was true, Albus was highly certain that her parents would not be found in London. Not Muggle London, at the very least. He just hoped that the poor girl hadn't been obliviated.

"That is very unfortunate. I apologize for not being the bearer of good news for her," he said sadly.

"Very unfortunate indeed, but the good Lord will always provide," she said right before stopping in front of a door. He frowned slightly when he realized she seemed to be hesitating. She finally spoke quietly, "Forgive me for being so forward, Mr. Dumbledore, but I think Hermione might be a positive influence for Tom. She's the first friend he's ever had, and he's been living here his entire life."

Albus smiled at the woman. "Half of a truth is often no truth at all. I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Cole. It makes my job much easier."

Mrs. Cole gave a tight smile and said, "Yes, well, I will be in my office. I'd appreciate hearing your opinion before you leave."

"Of course," he said. He watched her turn around and walk away.

Albus had not been expecting his day to be this interesting when he was planning it out over his Earl Grey this morning. He smiled.

* * *

Hermione was sitting in her room, reading her Bible…again. There was nothing else they allowed you to read outside of lessons, because the nuns said most books were written in the devil's script – whatever that meant.

The sudden rapping on her door made her feel excited. She dropped the forgotten Bible on the floor and rushed to open the door.

"Tom, I – " Hermione started, but froze when she saw a man with an auburn beard wearing the brightest clothes she'd seen any man wear standing in front of her. "Oh, um…hello. Can I help you?"

"Yes, I think you can," he smiled, "May I come in?"

"Yes, sure," she said, opening the door fully and stepping aside to let him through. She felt slightly uncomfortable by his sudden presence, and slightly disappointed that it wasn't Tom. Hermione thought that maybe he was from the police, but she noticed that he wasn't dressed like Mr. Filby at all. He sat down in her desk chair and motioned for her to sit on her bed, so she did.

"Hermione, right?" he asked. Hermione nodded. "Hello, Hermione. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I've just seen your friend, Tom, and he wished for me to come speak with you."

Hermione's heart froze. He'd spoken to Tom? Was he here because of what he did to Amy and Dennis? Was he here to take Tom away? Was he here to take  _her_  away? Tom had told her that they had to keep what they could do a secret, because it was too dangerous for the Normals (that's what he called everyone  _else_ ) to know about what they could do. She did her best to keep the apprehension from showing on her face.

"Oh, really? What did he say?" she asked, feigning interest. Albus smiled at her question.

"Well, he said something rather interesting, actually," he said. Then he leaned forward and she swore that she saw his eyes twinkle as he whispered, "He told me that you were  _special._ "

Dread turned Hermione's heart into cold ice and sank it into the pit of her stomach. She swallowed and said nothing. Albus sensed her nervousness and leaned back to give her some space.

"I don't mean to frighten you, Hermione. You have nothing to worry about from me. I'm a lot like you and Tom. I'm a professor at a school – a special school – that teaches children like the two of you. It's my job to find and inform some of the students before the school year begins. That's why I'm here today."

Hermione's eyes widened at his statement. A school? Would she get to leave the orphanage? What kind of things did they teach there? The whirlwind going on in her mind was interrupted as he spoke again.

"Unfortunately, only Tom's name was listed for me to come visit here today," Albus stated carefully.

The pain of her rising heart crashing back down again was far too real.

"However, special exceptions could be made, if one proves their worth," he gave her a knowing look.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, frantically scanning the room. Tom had specifically told her not to show anyone else what she could do, but if she didn't show this Albus Dumbledore that she was the same as Tom, she would be left behind – alone. Just the thought of the idea threatened to sting her eyes. She'd made her decision.

She watched Albus' eyes widen at the Bible that was hovering in front of his face. He plucked it out of the air with his hand and smiled at Hermione.

"It seems as if your friend was correct about you. This is most exciting news, Ms. – oh," his smile faltered slightly, "I'm afraid I don't even know your last name, Hermione."

He offered the book back to her, which she took and then she answered, "Granger. At least, I think it's Granger."

"Yes, Mrs. Cole did tell me a little of your situation. No memories at all?" he asked. She shook her head sadly.

"No. I'm afraid not. Sometimes I have strange dreams, but they're so illogical that there's no possible way they could be proper memories. More like fairy tales, or my imagination," she said.

"Ah, but Ms. Granger, when you can't depend on your eyes to guide you on your journey, your imagination is the next best thing," Dumbledore said cryptically. Hermione understood the basic context of what he was saying, but she preferred a more straightforward approach when it came to giving advice. Well, when it came to anything, really.

"Well, as I was saying before, this is the most wonderful news. I believe I can work something out for you to attend our school, but I need to speak with the headmaster first, and then we'll go from there," Albus told her.

"So, that means that Tom and I will get to leave here together?" Hermione asked, excited at the prospect of leaving this horrid place.

"Just during the school year, yes. You'll have to come back here during the summer holidays, unfortunately," he said.

They'd have to come back and stay here during the summer? That was only two months out of the year. Hermione was sure they could manage.

"I don't think that will be a problem," she said. She could barely sit still, she was so excited. Albus chuckled at her reaction, then stood up. Hermione followed his example.

"You should expect to receive a letter from me within the next week or so. I wouldn't want to be the reason that you and your friend are separated, so I promise you that I'm going to do everything within my power in order for you to attend our school. In the meantime, please try to refrain from getting into mischief," he raised his eyebrows at her, giving her a knowing look. Hermione swallowed and nodded quickly.

"I hope to hear from you soon. Good bye, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said politely.

"Good bye, Ms. Granger," he said, then turned to walk out the door. He paused before turning back around to her.

"Oh, and Ms. Granger? While owls do prefer live mice, dead ones still do just fine," Albus said with a humored smile. He left a bewildered Hermione behind in her room.

* * *

Porridge was, once again, on the menu for dinner that night. Hermione's uniform was starting to hang off her even more than it already had. She thought she would do just about anything to eat something other than porridge – she'd even eat kippers, and that was saying something.

Hermione looked up from her bowl at Tom. He always seemed to handle eating his meals with more grace than she did. He never scrunched up his nose or complained. Then again, now that she thought about it, he had been here his entire life. He was probably used to it. While she couldn't remember her life before the orphanage, she could remember eating better food than the slop sitting in the bowl in front of her.

Hermione's thoughts drifted to the conversation she'd had with Tom before dinner. She could feel her heart swell, recalling their shared excitement of leaving the orphanage. She was still worried that she wouldn't be allowed to attend the school, but Tom had been quick to tell her that they'd be daft to not let her come. The memory made her grin.

"What's wrong with your face?"

Hermione's smile faltered and her eyes focused on Tom scrutinizing her from across the table. She felt her face burn.

"What are you talking about? Nothing is wrong with my face," she said defensively.

"If you say so," Tom said, raising one eyebrow. She hated it when he did that. He continued eating.

"Tom?" she asked.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Are you any good at catching mice?"

* * *

**A/N** : Because you can't have a Harry Potter fic that has a younger Dumbledore in it where it doesn't describe his auburn hair or twinkling freaking eyes. I would like to state that there will be certain events from the books that will more or less also happen in my story. (e.g.; the rabbit incident, the cave scene, etc.) But there will also be many new events of my own making, obviously. Anyway, thanks for reading.


	5. Displays of Destitution

**A/N:** I've been sick and stuck in bed most of this week, so here's another chapter sooner than expected. Thanks for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. They make me feel all warm and tingly inside.

**Disclaimer:**  Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

It was true: owls really did prefer live mice, as disgusting as it was to witness in person. Hermione had originally felt insane for taking Albus Dumbledore's advice to heart, but after discovering how witches and wizards sent their post, she was glad she did. The owl was incredibly bad-tempered, and she was afraid it would have never handed over her letter if she hadn't given it the mouse.

Hermione was thankful that Tom was good at catching mice. She was also thankful that she'd found an old, discarded hat box to keep the mouse in. She honestly hadn't felt like keeping a dead mouse hidden in her room for God knew how long. Dumbledore's letter took a bit longer than she was expecting it to take, but it arrived, just the same.

She wanted to open the letter immediately and read it, but she was terrified it would have bad news. She already had enough bad news from Mr. Filby; she didn't think she could stomach any more of it.

Hermione wanted to find Tom first. She slid the letter into her pocket and walked to his room, hoping that he was there. She felt relief when he opened his door when she knocked.

"Yes?" Tom asked. He had his eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion, taking in her frazzled state.

Hermione didn't acknowledge his question. She brushed by him and into his room, shutting the door behind them quickly.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, "It's against the rules to have a guest in your room with the door closed."

She ignored his question again and said, "My letter came."

Tom stilled. "What did it say?"

"I haven't read it yet," Hermione said, then she sat in his chair and continued, "What if I can't go? What if I never leave? What if I'm stuck here  _forever_?"

Tom watched her carefully, then sat down across from her on his bed. He said, "Why don't you ever listen to me? You're just like me. If they let me in, why wouldn't they let you in?"

Hermione looked at him apprehensively and said, "Do you really think so?"

Tom nodded. This made Hermione relax slightly. She dug the letter out of her pocket and stared at it for a long moment, before handing it toward him.

"I want you to read it," she said.

Tom's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Why?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook the letter out to him again, motioning for him to take it from her. "Because, I'm too nervous! I think I will handle bad news coming from you better than reading it myself."

Tom seemed to accept her reasoning and warily took the letter from her. The look on her face seemed to almost make  _him_ feel nervous. Almost.

Hermione watched him anxiously as he broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. She watched for any hint in his eyes as they darted back and forth, ingesting the words. He gave away nothing. She could feel her heartbeat thud when he folded the letter back up neatly and set it on his desk next to her. He wasn't saying anything. Why wasn't he saying anything? No. No, no,  _no_.

"You're in," he stated calmly.

Hermione's body and heart reacted to the news before her brain could keep up. She leapt up from the chair and hugged Tom. He went rigid in her embrace and didn't return it. He made a little noise to clear his throat. She felt her face catch fire as her brain finally caught up with her actions. She let go of him quickly and sat back down. Well, this was awkward.

"Sorry about that. Got excited," she muttered, trying to look at anything besides Tom.

Tom's eyebrows furrowed slightly, ignoring her statement. "I said you got in. Aren't you going to read the rest of it for yourself now?"

"Er…yes. Of course," she said. She picked up the letter and opened it.

"Not  _here_. You have your own room, don't you?" Tom snapped impatiently.

Her eyes widened at his tone and then she frowned at him. He'd never spoken to her like that before.

" _Fine._ Probably better to read this is a less hostile environment, anyway," she snapped back. Why was he so unpredictable? She threw his door open and walked down the hallway, fully irritated. Hermione huffed to herself. And to think, she had wanted to speak to him just minutes ago! He was so…so…there wasn't a word in the English language she could think of right now. She reached her room, opened the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Now that she was alone in her room, Hermione discovered that the environment wasn't any less hostile; but at least she could think clearer now.

Idiot.

Tom was an  _idiot_.

* * *

Their letters gave detailed instructions on where to go and what to do to get their supplies for school. The list was unusual: uniforms, spell books, a telescope, a pewter cauldron, crystal phials, brass scales, and a wand. A  _wand_.

Hermione pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming a fairytale up in her head.  _Ouch._  No, she was definitely awake. She was still having difficulty grasping the reality that she was really a witch.

That meant her family had to be the same as her, right? That meant it was the reason why the police haven't been able to find them, and why her family hadn't found her yet. They were simply…separated. Hermione knew there was a possibility that this wasn't the case, but she was remaining realistically optimistic; thinking this way was what had kept her from crying at night.

Unfortunately, no matter how optimistic she was trying to remain, she still knew that she had to go to this Diagon Alley place today with Tom. It had been a few days since he snapped at her, but she was still annoyed with him. To make matters worse, he acted like nothing ever happened.  _Typical_.

"Why does mine say to tell the shopkeepers to send  _my_  bill to Hogwarts, but  _yours_  says to send it straight to Professor Dumbledore?" Tom asked.

Hermione frowned at her letter and folded it back up before putting it in her pocket. This was the place stated in the letter: The Leaky Cauldron. She saw a shabby building with a plain door and no windows. Were the instructions correct? Hermione was brought out of her train of thought when she felt Tom's expectant gaze on her.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" she asked. While she really hadn't heard what he'd asked, she couldn't keep the nip out of her tone.

Tom frowned at her and drawled, "Your  _letter_. Why does yours say to send your bills to Dumbledore, but mine says it comes out of the Hogwarts stipend fund?"

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "I honestly don't know. Perhaps it's a mistake?" she asked.

"Perhaps," he said in a way that made it sound like this particular discussion was over. He continued, "So, this is The Leaky Cauldron, then?"

Hermione nodded. "That's what the letter says, but does it really  _look_  like a pub and inn?"

"Only one way to find out," Tom said and pulled open the door without hesitating. Hermione outwardly cringed at the brash certainty pouring off him.

They were barely aware of the door closing soundly behind them. There were men, women, and a few children dressed in various colored robes – some of them were wearing ridiculous looking hats with even more ridiculous looking hat pins sticking out of them. The smells, the sounds, the visuals – they were overwhelming.

Hermione's stomach growled, agitated by the smells of warm bread and mead and potatoes and – was that a roast? She was thankful when she felt Tom gently tug on her sleeve to get her attention to follow him. They made their way past a long bench with people sitting down, eating their meals. It took all her willpower to turn her head away from the tables and focus on the back of Tom's head. Would they get to eat food like that at school? Hermione shook her head. No. Focus.

Tom was headed for the exit when an older gentleman opened it ahead of them. Tom muttered a thank you to the man when he held the door open for them.

"Going to Diagon Alley, too?" the man asked, pulling a polished stick out of his pocket.

Tom nodded, as Hermione was too busy staring at the stick.

"School shopping, eh? I suppose it's that time of year again," the man trailed off, focusing on tapping the stick against the bricks on the wall. The children stared in fascination as the brick wall in front of them turned in on itself and opened, revealing more people and shops and  _dear Lord_ , even more delicious smells of foods.

"Good luck to the both of you," the man nodded at them, then turned to get lost in the crowd.

This jarred Tom enough to grab Hermione's hand and quickly lead her out before the wall closed again. The tips of Tom's ears turned red as he let go of her hand. He cleared his throat and asked, "What shops are on the list again?"

"Oh," Hermione said, digging the letter out of her dress pocket and unfolding it, "Well, the first item on the list is uniforms. It doesn't say which store to go to, though."

"Let's go find one, then," Tom said, abruptly walking away from Hermione, causing her to fumble with shoving the letter back into her pocket and chasing after him.

* * *

Several hours and shops later, Tom and Hermione had gotten all their school supplies. Hermione's favorite shop had been the book store, Flourish and Blotts; but her favorite moment had been when they got their wands in Ollivanders. Their wands had chosen them. She felt silly for feeling this way, but it felt nice being chosen – being wanted. Almost as if she was being loved unconditionally, like a parent would. Hermione quickly blinked the swelling tears out of her eyes. No. Today was a good day.

They were walking along the cobblestone path of Diagon Alley, having just left Slug & Jiggers Apothecary to purchase their crystal vials. Hermione had been thankful for the little old lady who ran the shop. Their purchases were starting to become too cumbersome to carry, so the lady took pity on them and gave them a very worn, leather knapsack. She had even cast a spell that made it much lighter. Tom took the knapsack and slid it over one shoulder before Hermione could say anything.

They passed by Magical Menagerie's storefront and Hermione sighed longingly.

"I'd love to get a cat, but I know the stipend wouldn't allow for that kind of purchase in the budge – oh!" she suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing Tom to almost bump into her.

Something small and shiny caught Hermione's eye – a silver sickle was lying on the cobblestone pavement. She quickly nabbed it before someone else laid claim to it. She grinned and then looked at Tom, holding the sickle up for him to see.

Her grin didn't even falter when she noticed that his ears were red and he was looking around, making sure no one witnessed her public display of destitution. After he was quite content that no one had witnessed it, he hissed, "Just because we're orphans, doesn't mean we must  _act_ like it, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes. "Who, in their right mind, would not pick up a coin they find on the ground?"

"That's not the point I'm trying to make here. No one in this world knows who we are; it's a fresh start. In the normal world, we'll always be nobodies, but in  _this_ world," he motioned to the magical shops all around them with his hand, "we can be somebody im _por_ tant."

"Well, I suppose you  _are_  right," Hermione said, but wasn't looking at him as she continued, "but I see a display of chocolate frogs that I am just  _dying_ to try. I was going to share them with you, but since you're so busy standing here, being im _por_ tant and all…"

Tom's eyes shifted to the neat display of chocolate frogs in the Sugarplum's Sweet Shop window. He unconsciously licked his lips and said, "I've never had chocolate before."

Hermione smiled sweetly, "But Tom, what were you just saying about picking coins off the ground like an orphan?"

Tom scowled and grabbed her by her elbow, dragging her to the entrance of Sugarplum's Sweet Shop.

"That was before you mentioned chocolate," he grumbled.

* * *

Open books were strewn haphazardly across Hermione's desk and bed. The only sounds heard were pages being flipped and the rain pelting against the window pane.

"Have you read about the four Houses yet?" Hermione asked.

"I skimmed through it, yes," he said.

"Which one do you think you'll be sorted into?" she asked him.

His eyebrows knit together in contemplation before answering, "Probably Ravenclaw. I think that's where both of us will end up," he paused for a moment before continuing, "Actually, Slytherin might be a possibility. I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. What about you?"

"Me? Hmm, well…I think you might be right about Ravenclaw. That does sound a lot like me, but I'm honestly happy wherever I end up. All of the houses sound lovely," she said, continuing to flip through a text book about magical creatures.

Tom made a noise in acknowledgement, but said nothing further. He was much too interested in theories about the Oculus potion to continue the conversation. He'd moved onto reading about Jobberknoll feathers and their properties in potions. It was the main ingredient used in the Memory potion. There was a potion that could restore a person's memory? His eyes flicked over to Hermione. Her eyes were closed and she was curled up on her bed, holding a book to her chest. When had she fallen asleep?

He glanced out the window and noticed that it was still raining, but it was dark now. When had that happened? He'd been so absorbed in reading that he'd lost track of the time.

Tom stood up for the desk and stretched, then looked at the books scattered across the room. They couldn't have Martha or Mrs. Cole reading the titles of these books. He sneered, knowing that Mrs. Cole would throw them all into the fireplace if she found out about them. He got to work, picking up and piling all their books on the desk. He treated the books with careful respect as he slid them into the knapsack they shared to hide their supplies. Tom hadn't figured out how yet, but the bag fit more in it than it should have been able to. He'd assumed the old woman from the shop was responsible.

Tom slid the knapsack onto one shoulder and went to leave. He'd meant to just turn around to switch the light off and close her door. That's what he had  _meant_  to do. Instead, he found himself awkwardly pulling Hermione's scratchy blanket over her before he left.

He frowned in confusion to himself as he walked down the hallway. He'd still turned the light off and shut the door, so he supposed he still did what he'd meant to do. That had to count for something, right?

The ring stopped thrumming as he walked further away from Hermione's room.

Right.

* * *

There were parents embracing their children in farewell-but-not-forever-farewell hugs. There were younger siblings crying that it wasn't fair that they couldn't go, too. There were promises to write at  _least_ once a week. There were bittersweet smiles, and there were sad tears. And there, and the very end of the platform, completely disregarded, were two children standing on their own.

The Oo's and Ah's and sentimentality were grating on his nerves. It was just a train going to a school. Tom readjusted the strap on his shoulder as he glanced at Hermione's downhearted expression, then back to the steam coming out of the train's chimney. He wasn't insensitive enough to admit that the entrance to the platform was curious, though. Unless the train flew out of the station when they left, which he highly doubted, since there were tracks. If the train flew,  _then_ he would be impressed. He looked back to Hermione.

"Let's go find a free compartment," he told her. She nodded and followed beside him.

It didn't take long before they found one and settled in. They spent the first few hours of the trip reading through the text books they hadn't gotten to when they'd been in the orphanage. Tom was reading about how to successfully extract syrup from the Hellebore flower when a middle-aged woman pushing a trolley full of food opened their door.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked, smiling at them cheerily.

Tom's stomach growled quietly at her question. Neither of them had eaten breakfast that day, since they had to catch the train. He shook his head no.

"No, thank you," Hermione said politely.

"Alright. If you change your minds, you come find me," the lady said, and left to the next compartment.

Tom felt a fire burning in the pit of his stomach, and he was quite certain that it wasn't from the hunger pains. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth. Destitution had never tasted so bitter before. He looked at Hermione, taking in her crestfallen expression as she watched the food being pushed away.

"When I'm older, I'm going to be so rich that I'll eat whatever, and whenever I want," he said darkly, glaring where the woman had just been standing. His dark look was quickly replaced by bewilderment when Hermione started laughing.

"You'll end up looking like that plump man that sits in the front pew at church if you do that," she said.

Tom shook off the mental image he got and turned his nose up in disgust.

"Fine. Not  _whatever_  I want, but I'm never eating porridge again," he stated, crossing his arms and slumping against his seat.

"Now that is something I can get on board with," Hermione said, looking out the window. The smile had fallen from her face again. He didn't know why, but he felt uncomfortable whenever she looked like that.

"I'm leaving the orphanage as soon as possible," he said. Hermione looked in his direction again, curious.

"How?"

"I don't know yet," he said tersely, "I haven't worked out all the details."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you'll find a way," she said, turning her head to look back out the window, the curious expression gone from her face again.

Tom forced himself to swallow his pride, both figuratively and literally, then he said, "I'll let you come with me, if you want."

He felt like he won something when he saw her wide eyes snap back to his, and her mouth form that stupid little 'o' that she made so often.

"Really?" she asked.

Tom shrugged and said nonchalantly, "You don't irritate me."

He watched her roll her eyes and she said sarcastically, "Gee, thanks for that. I feel  _very_  special now."

Tom frowned and tilted his head to the side. Was she trying to be funny? He said, "Exactly. Because you are."

Hermione just shook her head with a smile, and opened her book back up before saying, "You really are clueless. Aren't you, Tom?"

What? He was getting ready to tell her that  _she_ was the clueless one, when she began speaking again.

"And sure, I'll come with you. Only because you don't irritate me…too much," Hermione said, smiling at him over her book.

Tom felt the corners of his mouth tug upward in an almost-smile.

* * *

Tom spent some time wondering which was larger: Hogwarts castle, or Buckingham Palace. While he had never been in Buckingham Palace, he assumed that Hogwarts  _had_ to be larger. Larger, but less lavish. It was a  _school,_  after all. It's not like King George VI himself lived here.

He took one look at the floating candles above them, and thought that King George VI would have died of heart failure right then and there. Tom was brought out of his thoughts when a tall man with a stern face stood behind a podium in front of the students. He was wearing robes with dark, rich colors of blue and gold, with intricate designs etched into the fabric. His beard was short, and his hair long; both of which were as white as snow – the kind of snow before the cars ran through it and turned it into dirty slush. On top of his head sat something that looked like it used to be alive at some point – at some point, meaning probably  _at least_  a century ago.

"Welcome back for another school year, students! For those of you who don't know me, my name is Armando Dippet, and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Please, feel free to come and see me if ever you need; my door is always open to you. Now, I could drone on and on about the school rules and regulations, but I'm sure you're all tired and hungry."

Tom heard Hermione make an involuntary whimpering noise at the old man's statement. His mood darkened considerably.

"So, we will do the Sorting Ceremony first, and then we'll eat supper! Your Heads of House will go over the rules with you afterward," Headmaster Dippet motioned at the teacher table behind him and said, "Professor Dumbledore, if you would be so kind as to do the honors."

Tom's attention perked up at the mention of Professor Dumbledore. He watched the man walk down to the group of first years huddled together. He was carrying an old, decrepit hat. It must have been the Sorting Hat he'd read about in one of his books. Tom cringed. He wasn't sure how he felt about that  _thing_  being put on his head, but he knew it was necessary.

Dumbledore pulled a scroll from his sleeve and read aloud, "Avery, Ewan!"

A boy with strawberry blonde hair stepped forward and sat on the stool. Tom felt Hermione brush against his arm. He glanced at her and noticed that she was standing on her tip toes, trying to see. He huffed out his nose and pulled her in front of him impatiently. She smiled at him meekly and whispered a thank you to him before turning her attention back to the ceremony. The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Tom's attention was brought back to the ceremony when he heard cheering coming from the table the boy was walking to. Tom raised his eyebrow. That one must be the Slytherin table.

"Black, Alphard!" Professor Dumbledore called out.

A small boy with jet black hair that almost touched his shoulders stepped forward. The hat was on his head for a couple of minutes before it shouted out, "SLYTHERIN!"

More cheers. Irritating. It continued this way for quite a while. Tom was hungry and wanted to eat. He knew Hermione was hungry, too. Soon, they would be sorted into Ravenclaw and they could finally eat. He had a feeling that they would be served something proper, not porridge. His heart stuttered slightly when he heard the professor call out the next name.

"Granger, Hermione!"

"Relax.  _Relax_ ," he heard her whisper to herself.

Tom could almost laugh at her. Why was she always a walking mess littered with anxiety? He watched her sit on the stool and the hat was placed on her frizzy head. Minutes went by. The hat was silent. The hall was silent. The  _world_ was silent. Tom noticed some of the teachers were leaning forward in their seats. He didn't know whether to be nervous, proud, or jealous at the attention she was getting.

His eyes locked with hers as the hat yelled out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Tom was vaguely aware that there was cheering and clapping and fists banging on the table behind him. He felt like his chest was trying to pull itself into the floor. This wasn't supposed to happen. Tom didn't realize he was still staring at the space Hermione had been in until he saw a brown-haired boy sitting where she'd sat.

He refused to turn around.

The number of unsorted first years were beginning to dwindle down. It was only Tom and five other students now.

"Riddle, Tom," Dumbledore called out.

Tom stepped forward and sat down on the stool, then Professor Dumbledore slid the hat over his head. He'd barely managed to suppress his disgust from the dingy hat touching his head, when he heard a voice in his ear – or was it in his head?

_Interesting. I haven't sorted anyone from your bloodline in decades._

_You know of my family?_  Tom asked in his mind.

_You could say that, but that's not why we're here, now is it? Let's see. Where should I put you?_

Was it asking him where he wanted to go?

_I want to be in Gryffindor,_ he told the hat.

_Gryffindor? With your mind? Your ambition? Your determination? I see it all here, you know. You're destined for something bigger – something greater._

Tom suddenly felt uneasy. His eyes automatically found Hermione's worried face at the Gryffindor table.

_Gryffindor isn't the right path for you, if you want to achieve your goals. I believe the right house for you is…_

"SLYTHERIN!"

Tom felt displeasure as he made his way over to the cheering Slytherin table. He slid onto the bench next to the other first years, doing his best to ignore their presence. It wasn't too difficult. He watched the last two students get sorted, listened to Headmaster Dippet say something about supper being served, and then watched in silent amazement when all sorts of food appeared on the table out of thin air.

It wasn't porridge. It was rolls, vegetables, meats, and drinks. Tom had never seen such an assortment of food displayed in front of him before. He'd lost track of how many times he'd looked at Hermione that day, but he wasn't disappointed when he found that she was also looking at him. He saw her big smile and her watery eyes, and then he did something he hadn't done before.

He smiled back at her.

And for another first in Tom Riddle's life, he fell asleep in a soft, warm bed with a full belly.

* * *

**A/N:** Freaking a, they're finally at Hogwarts. I hope no one was too disappointed that Hermione wasn't sorted into Slytherin. I have specific reasons that are important to plot and character development that heavily rely on the fact that Hermione is in Gryffindor, so yes. There's that. I'd also like to mention that Hermione's original wand still chose her. Have you seen all the dust in Ollivanders? It's  _perfectly_  plausible that Hermione's wand sat there for a whole century before it came into her possession. That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.

Also, going forward, there will be several time jumps. I'm looking to write one chapter,  _maybe_  two (but I highly doubt it) for each year they are in Hogwarts in the beginning years (1st through 5th). After that, there will be fewer time jumps. I'm really excited for what I have planned!

Oh, and one piece of art posted up to my DeviantArt account (username: androideighteen). Quick digital painting of Tom being sorted. Thanks for reading!


	6. Hope and Optimism

**A/N:**  First year at Hogwarts – here we freakin' go! Thank you for the comments and kudos. All the scenes in this chapter will be in chronological order. There are no exact dates expressed, but some hints are thrown into most of the scenes.

**Disclaimer** : Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

The proposition of going to Hogwarts had been Hermione's silver lining while she was at the orphanage; now that she was here, she decided that Hogwarts must be Heaven.

The castle was beautiful, the classes were stimulating, the children were pleasant, and the food was  _extraordinary_. At first, the food had been her favorite part of attending Hogwarts, but now that she had been accustomed the regularity of meals, it was easily replaced by the classes.

Transfiguration was her favorite class so far. She was disappointed that she only had it once a week. Professor Dumbledore was a wonderful teacher – much friendlier than the nuns, and much more well-informed on his subject matter than Martha could  _ever_  hope to be on Bible verses.

The only situation from the orphanage that seemed to remain the same at Hogwarts was her inability to form friendships adequately. After the second week, she had been made aware of what most of her classmates thought of her constantly answering  _all_  the questions in  _all_  her classes – even in flying lessons; which she was absolutely  _atrocious_  with anything to do with a broom that didn't involve using one to sweep.

Lyall Lupin, a sandy-haired first year boy from her house, had let her know in the  _politest_  way possible that if she could  _possibly_ not be the teacher's pet for  _every_  class, then  _maybe_ she'd make more friends.  _Maybe_. It had stung a little bit, but he really  _had_  been sincere, so she couldn't be too upset with him. Additionally, he was one of the only children in their year that could tolerate talking to her – well, aside from Tom. Oh, and Tom's friend, Alphard. Then there was Euphemia Fawley, but not many people talked to her, either. She was a bit…eccentric, but Hermione enjoyed discussing various topics with her.

Her thoughts and eyes trained on Tom. He was sitting across from her in the library, working on the essay Professor Slughorn had assigned to them on the magical properties of aconite. She was happy that they shared classes. They only had Potions, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and flying lessons together. It wasn't all of them, but it was better than nothing. Hermione felt safer at Hogwarts than in the orphanage; but Tom was something familiar in a world full of unfamiliarity. She clung to it.

She boxed back her tears. He was the  _only_ thing familiar to her in this world.

Hermione blinked and went back to working on the transformation formula for her Transfiguration homework – a welcome, yet tedious distraction.

* * *

It should have been a surprise to him when Hermione Granger sought him out after classes ended that day, but that would have been a lie. If anything, he was surprised that she hadn't sought him out sooner in the term.

"Excuse me, Professor. I need to speak with you, please," she stated shortly, all prim and proper.

Albus wanted to chuckle at how grown-up and serious she acted all the time, but he knew that would offend her. He couldn't have that, now could he?

"Of course, Ms. Granger. What did you need to speak with me about?" he asked her, watching her straitlaced expression falter before his eyes.

"Well, I was wondering…if it was possible – if there was any possibility – that my family could be found, here, in the wizarding world?" she asked.

Albus leaned back in his chair and contemplated her for a long moment. He had been two steps ahead of her.

"It seems as if we have a similar mindset, Ms. Granger. I've looked into this for you already. Unfortunately, I've come up empty-handed in my search, thus far," the glass shards of hope that he had shattered from her eyes sliced at his heart. He sighed and continued, "It's normal to lose heart, Ms. Granger, but  _never_ lose hope. Nothing can be achieved in this world without hope and optimism."

Hermione smiled softly and blinked away the tears forming in her eyes and said, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. You'll help me find my family? What about Tom's family?"

Albus felt himself still at her questions, then he nodded once. "I will help you both within my power, Ms. Granger," he said carefully.

Hermione felt content with his answer and nodded. Albus leaned forward in his chair and rested against his desk.

"Was this everything you wished to speak to me about, Hermione?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She paused in consideration before stating that was all she had to ask him. They spent another few minutes discussing the most recent Transfiguration assignment before he sent her on her way.

Albus smiled to himself. He knew he had made the right choice to fight for her place in Hogwarts. The girl was as sharp as a Billywig sting, and worked harder than any student he'd had the pleasure of teaching before. It hadn't been an  _easy_  fight to win, mind you.

Armando wasn't against Hermione attending Hogwarts – he trusted Albus when he told him that she was a witch, but his hands were tied. If her name was not in the Book of Acceptance, she could not attend Hogwarts –  _no exceptions_. The Ministry of Magic only paid tuition for the students who were written in the book.

The only work-around, which had been Armando's idea, was to find a benefactor for the girl. Albus had been hesitant to volunteer himself, but then he had recalled what Mrs. Cole had told him.

_"Forgive me for being so forward, Mr. Dumbledore, but I think Hermione might be a positive influence for Tom. She's the first friend he's ever had, and he's been living here his entire life."_

Albus had been concerned about the vindictive traits the boy showed. If what Mrs. Cole said was true, he had a feeling that Ms. Granger would keep young Mr. Riddle out of trouble.

So, he'd soundly decided that he would be Ms. Granger's benefactor.

Albus went back to grading the homework on his desk, then smiled to himself again. He was using Hermione's homework as a guide to grade her classmates' work.

Yes. He had definitely made the right choice in fighting for her place here.

* * *

The Great Hall was decorated with floating jack-o-lanterns and flying bats for Hallowe'en. Professor Dumbledore had even transfigured benevolent Hinkypunks to walk to halls with their little lanterns to lead students who'd gone astray back to their common rooms in the evenings.

So, when Tom had veered off-course after supper to go up the stairs, instead of down to the dungeons, the little wispy creature that had been leading him had gone into a tizzy. He would have kicked the bloody thing if he hadn't already known that his foot would go right through it.

He huffed out his nose impatiently while he waited for the staircase to change. When it stopped, he made his way to the third-floor corridor. He found the room he was looking for and set to work.

Tom's breath fogged up the glass of the trophy case holding the Medals for Magical Merit, while he sought after his last name. He was glad the Trophy Room had been on the third floor tonight; he hadn't felt like climbing all the way to the sixth floor right after supper – he would end up being late for curfew.

He frowned.  _Nothing_. He moved onto the displays holding the Quidditch medals and trophies. Nothing, yet again.

He straightened and sighed, feeling beyond frustrated, when he spotted a large book on a wooden pedestal. He read the cover:  _History of Heads of House_. Interesting. A book containing every Head Boy and Girl in the history of Hogwarts? Tom knew this could be promising.

After spending a few minutes reading through all the last names that began with 'R', Tom slammed the book shut in irritation. He felt like hurting something, and vaguely wondered if that Hinkypunk was still wandering nearby.

Tilting his head to the side, he contemplated the book in front of him for a few moments before opening it back up again. He flipped it to the list of students with the last names that began with 'G'. He felt apprehension while reading through the list, but relief flooded him when he didn't find what he was looking for.

Not finding the name meant many things, but only one concerned Tom for the time being: it meant, more likely than not, that she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. The corner of his mouth lifted.

Misery loved company, after all.

* * *

The air had gotten cold enough where words spoken outside could be seen floating in the air, but it still hadn't snowed yet. Students were gathered in groups across the school on their day off from classes; there was sharing of jokes, of gossip, of treats, and of news from Germany.

Hermione was in the library, holding the latest copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands. She was reading through the article splayed across the front page:  _Random Acts of Muggle Violence, or Grindelwald?_

"Who's Grindelwald?"

Hermione jumped and looked up from the newspaper. Tom was looking down at her, his question seeping into his eyes.

"Tom! You need to stop startling me like that," she huffed out in agitation, adjusting the newspaper to read it again.

He slid into an empty chair next to her and tilted his head to the side. "You didn't answer my question."

"Well, I was  _trying_  to find out, before you so rudely interrupted me," she said in half-hearted sarcasm.

Tom went to say something equally snarky when another voice cut in. Tom's face darkened considerably.

"Figures the two of you would be in here on a Saturday."

"You're also in here on a Saturday. So, what does that say about  _you_ , Alphard?" Hermione asked, smirking at him.

Alphard grinned and said, "Suppose you're right on that one." He pulled the next empty chair out on the other side of Hermione and sat down.

"So, what are you guys up to?" he asked them. Tom made a gesture to the newspaper in Hermione's hands with his eyebrows and chin. Alphard's cheesy grin fell off his face when he read the headline.

"Oh," he said.

"Oh? Do  _you_  know who Grindelwald is?" Hermione asked him.

Alphard frowned in confusion and said, "You mean you two  _don't_  know who Grindelwald is?"

Two blank looks and one look of dawning realization later caused Alphard to say, "Right. Orphans from the Muggle world. No offense," he added quickly, wincing at his own words.

Tom scowled at him before Hermione said, "None taken. It's the truth, isn't it? So, what do you know about him? It says here that there was an attack against Jewish Muggles in Germany – that thousands and thousands of them have been arrested just because they're Jewish. Which is horrible enough by itself, but the reason it's in the Daily Prophet is because over one-hundred witches and wizards who lived in the area have gone missing, or have turned up…dead."

Tom's interest perked up at her words, and he leaned closer to read lines from the article. Hermione detected his interest and slid the newspaper over to him without a word, knowing that he would be lost to the world for the next few minutes.

Alphard looked hesitant to tell them, but did anyway. "Grindelwald is the most dangerous and powerful dark wizard in the entire world."

Tom's head shot up at Alphard's words. Hermione rolled her eyes. Apparently, she'd been wrong to assume he'd be lost for a few minutes.

"What makes him so  _dark_?" Tom asked skeptically.

Alphard's normally light-hearted demeanor turned dark in an instant. "He's a  _fanatic._  Grindelwald wants to expose the magical world – to overturn the Statute of Secrecy. He wants to rule over the entire world, with the Muggles working as  _slaves_ ," Alphard paused, considering his next words, "Killing  _whoever_  gets in his way: whether they are Muggle or magical."

"That's horrible!" Hermione said.

"I know," Alphard agreed.

"Maybe he has a point," Tom said. Hermione and Alphard almost broke their necks to stare at him in shock.

"Bloody hell, Tom! What do you mean, 'Maybe he has a point.'?" Alphard asked, bordering on hysterical.

Tom rolled his eyes and said, "I didn't mean  _killing_  people, you prat. I meant  _hiding_. Why should we hide?"

"Maybe because our kind used to get burned alive by religious Muggle nut jobs? It's just easier this way if we keep magic a secret," Alphard said.

Tom looked at Alphard as if he was looking right through him. The cogwheels were revolving again. When Tom was in deep thought, he was lost to this world. He turned his attention back to the article and continued reading, as if the conversation had never taken place to begin with. Hermione shook her head and sighed.

Hermione shared her opinions.

Alphard shared his puns.

Tom shared his silence.

* * *

"Why do you always hang around her, anyway? She's in  _Gryffindor_ , for Merlin's sake!"

The snide remarks and laughter from Tom's older housemates were slowly consuming his pride and limiting his patience. He had wished he'd known about the ignorant house rivalries beforehand; and of course, Hermione and Tom happened to be in the two opposite houses that took the rivalry  _very_ seriously. He had more important things to concern himself with than this pettiness.

"I mean, have you  _seen_  her hair? She could be their mascot!"

More laughter.

Tom glowered at the two second-year boys in front of him and felt himself slowly pulling his wand out of his robe pocket. His rage felt full of fire and turbulence and  _life_.

"What is going on here?"

The abrupt silence of their ceased laughter was music to Tom's ears.

"Nothing, Headmaster! We were just joking around with Tom here. Weren't we, Tom?" Abraxas asked, giving him a look that implied that it was wise to go along with his fib. Tom narrowed his eyes at Abraxas and Lowell, already plotting his revenge against the boys.

Armando Dippet raised his eyebrow and said, "Are you certain, Mr. Malfoy? Either you aren't being truthful, or your jokes are absolute rubbish; because Tom does  _not_  look amused."

The corner of Tom's mouth twitched in triumph when he saw the older boy react to getting caught in his lie.

"What do you think you should say to Mr. Riddle, Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Lestrange?" the Headmaster asked respectfully.

"Sorry," the boys mumbled in unison. It looked like it physically hurt the boys to verbalize their apology, and Tom basked in their pain. Tom nodded to show that he accepted their apology; but that's all it was – just a show.

After the boys retreated down the hallway, Headmaster Dippet turned to Tom and said, "It took me decades before I realized that people like Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Lestrange rarely have a problem with the people they belittle; it is often  _them_  who are the ones who are insecure. Remember that, Mr. Riddle."

Tom blinked at Dippet's retreating form down the hall. He tilted his head to the side. It took him  _decades_  before he realized that? What a dunce.

* * *

Christmas morning was just like any other morning when you were an orphan, only worse. On any other day, being an orphan was a cruel reminder that you had no parents; but on  _Christmas_  day, being an orphan was a cruel reminder that you had  _no one_.

Hermione knew that this technically wasn't true. She had Tom. She had Alphard, Lyall, and Euphemia. She was happy, but the darkness lingered, waiting to strike at her weakest moments. Christmas was indeed a weak moment.

Although, she had to admit that the unexpected gifts from friends and professors helped lift her mood significantly. They decided to sit on the steps of the courtyard to go through their things.

"What did Alphard give you?"

"A book about the work Emeric Switch did on human transfiguration. What about you?" she asked Tom, who was currently biting the head off a chocolate frog.

"A book on advanced potion making," he said plainly.

"He's very thoughtful to give us something for Christmas. I feel awful, because I didn't get anything for him," she said.

Tom shrugged. "It's not like we have galleons lying about," he said, taking the last bite of his chocolate frog.

"That's not an excuse, Tom. Oh!" Hermione suddenly looked horrified and said, "I didn't even get anything for  _you,_  Tom!"

"I didn't get anything for you, either. Consider us even," he drawled out, opening the book Alphard had given him.

Hermione watched flurries begin to spit from the sky as he flipped through his book. Why did he always act like he never cared about  _anything_? She squinted her eyes at him, lost in thought.

"When is your birthday?" she asked abruptly.

"Why? Planning on buying me a gift?" he asked in an amused tone, not bothering to look up from his book. She felt her face burn at the fact that he saw right through the intent of her question.

"Not at all, actually. I like knowing things. Knowledge is power, you know," she said offhandedly.

This got Tom's attention away from his book. His stare reminded her of the way he'd looked at her after she made the sink explode at the orphanage: uncorrupted curiosity.

"Six days," he said.

The flurries that suddenly turned into a steady snowfall around them distracted her. "Huh?"

"My birthday. It's in six days," he said.

"Oh," she said lamely. So soon?

"When is yours?"

Hermione felt her eyebrows knit together at his question. She had just realized that this was the first time Tom had ever asked her a question about herself. She thought she knew it, but she didn't know for sure. She felt her fingers tighten around the spine of her book.

She knew  _nothing._  She could remember nothing. Not her life, not her family, not even herself. Her throat constricted. Her nostrils burned. Her eyes stung.

Then, suddenly, Hermione's dam failed her and she was full-on sobbing. She hadn't cried  _once_  since she arrived at Hogwarts. Once she started, she found it difficult to stop. Embarrassed to cry in front of Tom, she turned away from him and covered her face. She knew this kind of thing made him feel uncomfortable, so she tried to recover as quickly as possible.

Right when she felt like she was close to stopping, she felt an awkward hand lingering on her upper back. Hermione couldn't stop her breath from spasming.

Tom was looking at her with trepidation. He looked  _concerned_  about her. She wasn't able to help herself – she latched onto him and sobbed into his robes. It hurt. Her heart hurt so much.

She felt his arms wrap around her. She calmed. It was welcome. It was familiar.

"September 19th," she whispered.

Tom tightened his embrace and said nothing. The snow continued to fall.

Christmas wasn't a cruel reminder anymore; it was a merciful souvenir.

* * *

Six days later, Hermione snuck into the kitchens to bake him a small cake. Chocolate – his favorite. His mouth watered and decided that it looked half-decent.

He took a bite. Dear  _Lord_ , and all that was  _holy_. He chewed. He wanted to scrape his taste buds off. Hermione's cake made gruel sound appetizing.

"Do you like it?" she asked apprehensively.

Tom forced himself to swallow and said evenly, "Yes. Tastes great."

No, it didn't.

"You really think so?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

"I already said it once, didn't I?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow.

Eating it  _once_  was enough, too.

Was he feeling guilty after lying to her? No. He was going to blame the cake - and possibly indigestion. She made the cake, so it was technically  _her_  fault he was feeling this way. Right? Right.

Hermione beamed at him. His stomach flipped. Bloody cake.

* * *

"Welcome back, students! I hope that your holidays were as good as mine were; actually, I believe I slept through most of it, so let's hope yours wasn't quite like mine," Dippet chuckled at his old man humor and continued, "As some of you know, every seven years one of our students is chosen to participate in the Wizarding Schools Potion Championship – and this happens to be the seventh year!"

There was an excited murmur between the students at the news.

"Now, now! The championship doesn't take place until the summer, but I wanted to give all potential up-and-coming potioneers a chance to practice their skills in the meantime," Headmaster Dippet said.

Tom leaned forward and rested his hand in his chin. A championship sounded interesting. The thought of fame, glory, and prestige made him feel restless. He enjoyed making potions, and he was the best one at it in his year – even better than Hermione. He gave her a quick glance and noticed that she seemed be thinking similar thoughts, which caused him to smirk. He looked back up at Headmaster Dippet.

"It's also important that I state that you must be going into the fifth year to participate," Dippet was met with the sound of unhappy students, and he said, "Unfortunately, I am not in charge of the rules for this tournament. That's just how things are. If you are interested in signing up for the championship, please speak to Professor Slughorn, and he will give you more information. Now, let's eat."

The thought of fame, glory, and prestige was short-lived. Just because he was too young to participate, didn't mean he was too young to practice in his free time. Tom tapped his fingers against his cheek and narrowed his eyes at Hermione's frizzy head, lost in thought.

"Uh-oh. I know that look. I'm not even going to ask what it is – count me in!" said Alphard, grinning like an idiot.

Tom straightened up and looked at Alphard. He still wasn't quite sure how he felt about his classmate, but Tom supposed he was useful.

"Actually, I may require your assistance, Alphard," he said, watching Alphard's grin turn mischievous before continuing, "We're going to be making an interesting potion."

"Wicked," Alphard grinned, then took a large bite out of his roll. Tom did his best to not look disgusted when Alphard started chewing with his mouth open. He turned his attention back to Hermione, who was drinking pumpkin juice while listening to Euphemia Fawley jabber away.

Tom was going to need to smooth-talk Professor Slughorn – he needed Jobberknoll feathers.

* * *

The blue and black colors that bled across the feather was unusual, yet beautiful.

Tom continued setting up the workspace after he was done appreciating the Jobberknoll feather. It hadn't been as difficult to get from Professor Slughorn as he thought it was going to be. All it took was a small package of cauldron cakes that Alphard's mother had sent.

Cauldron cakes were a small price to pay for Hermione's memory. Tom frowned. Unfortunately, Professor Slughorn was going to pay a high price if he kept eating like a glutton. Maybe Hermione had a point about eating whatever he wanted.

Speaking of things he wanted, Tom wasn't even sure he wanted to do this. What if the potion worked, and Hermione got her memory back? He knew that she would continue attending Hogwarts, but what if she left the orphanage? He scowled at the crystal phials he was lining up on the table.

He was somewhat confident that her family wasn't part of the wizarding community; otherwise, they would have come to claim her already. Or another student would have recognized her at some point. Since neither had happened, he was almost positive that she was a Muggleborn – or that she was a Half-blood, at the very least.

What harm could come from restoring her memory if her family were Muggles? After he finished setting the rest of the materials out, he had decided that the harm coming from the memory potion working would be insignificant. His memory of Christmas day had also reassured him that he wasn't making a mistake.

Once he was satisfied with everything, he set to work.

"Alphard, I believe we're ready now," Tom said.

The other boy looked up from the book he was reading about advanced potion making and grinned. Alphard got up from the chair in the empty classroom and set the book down.

"Perfect timing. You know, I'm glad I picked this book for you. I just read a useful little footnote that Borage added about the timing of temperature, and how it increases the potency of the potion," Alphard said.

Tom raised his eyebrows, both impressed and surprised. He supposed Alphard  _was_  going to be more useful than he had originally anticipated. Good.

* * *

Failure. The memory potion had been an absolute, utter  _failure_  and he couldn't figure out why. Tom and Alphard had followed the instructions  _perfectly –_ above and beyond _-_ and it  _still_  hadn't worked.

Tom thought of the look on Hermione's face after she had taken the potion. She'd cried again. It left him feeling lop-sided.

He slammed another book shut. Her despair had led him to the library. Tom had a feeling that he needed to do some research on rings with magical properties.

Unfortunately, he'd come up empty-handed. He frowned.

Failure wasn't an option.

So, he continued searching.

* * *

Winter was melting away. Flowers could be seen peeking through the grass, competing for the sun.

Unfortunately, Hermione wouldn't be allowed to enjoy the beautiful Spring day for the time-being, but she wasn't upset about it. There were far more important things to worry about. She looked down at Lyall in the hospital wing bed with concern.

"You and Euphemia really don't need to worry about me, Hermione. It was just a stray Diffindo. I'll be out of here by tomorrow morning," he said.

Hermione sighed and said, "I  _know_  that. I just don't understand who would hit you with a severing charm in the middle of lunch. You were only eating."

Lyall grinned up at her and said, "Nah. I was telling a really horrible joke, and you looked like you were about to spray pumpkin juice out your nostrils."

"Maybe your joke was so terrible that someone felt the need to shut you up," Euphemia pondered.

Lyall laughed and Hermione smiled weakly. There was a sudden commotion on the opposite side of the infirmary. All three of them turned their attention to see the school nurse arguing with an older boy that was lying in bed.

"You  _must_  drink the tonic in order for these boils to heal properly, Mr. Malfoy!" the nurse said sternly, clearly fed up with the boy.

"It tastes like vomit!" he snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from her.

"If Mr. Lestrange can drink it with zero fuss, then so can you. Bottom's up," she said, waving her wand in the air over the Malfoy boy. They watched his mouth open and the nurse poured the tonic down his throat. His face turned red in anger, but the older woman was either oblivious, or just didn't care. She closed his privacy wall and walked away with the empty bottle in hand.

Hermione turned her attention back to her friends, feeling very thankful that none of them acted like  _that_. How embarrassing.

* * *

It felt different riding the train this time. Before, the train was taking them away from Wool's. Now, it was bringing them back. The worst part was that they weren't even allowed to use magic while they were there. What was the point of being a wizard if you couldn't even use the one thing that made you what you were?

Tom huffed out his nose and slouched in his seat. He crossed his arms in agitation. It wasn't  _fair_.

"It's only two months, Tom," Hermione said.

Tom narrowed his eyes at her and shifted himself back up in his seat. How did she always know things?

"Two months in that  _hole_  might as well be two  _years_ ," he snapped.

Hermione smiled at him and said, "Nothing can be achieved in this world without hope and optimism, Tom."

Tom looked at her, confused.  _Great_. Now she was starting to sound like the old coot.

Then he suddenly smirked to himself. The festering boils on Malfoy and Lestrange weren't achieved using hope and optimism. His smirk widened. Neither was that perfectly timed Diffindo charm.

* * *

**A/N** : One piece of art posted to my DeviantArt account for this chapter (username: androideighteen). Shameless plug: I started a Tomione Facebook group, if anyone is interested in joining. It's called 'Tomione Trash'.

Thanks for reading!


	7. The Song of Destruction

**A/N:**  This chapter spans over second year and the summer before third year starts. This is a shorter chapter than usual. Sorry about that.

**Disclaimer:**  Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Poland had been invaded. France and Great Britain had declared war against Germany. More witches and wizards had gone missing. It was unusual these days to see an adult witch or wizard without their nose buried deep in the Daily Prophet.

This is how Tom and Hermione started their second year at Hogwarts.

Classes carried on in an orderly fashion, and it was always one of the two who had the highest grade in their shared classes. It was toward the end of the second term when Hermione noticed that Tom hardly spent any time studying with her and Alphard in the library anymore. He always told them that he had already studied, or that he was too busy. There were even days where she did her studying by herself.

Hermione scratched out a sentence on her parchment, then set her quill down in a huff. Today was one of those days where she was on her own. Lyall and Euphemia preferred spending their free days doing other things. They always told her that she spent too much time doing homework and studying, but she liked to think that her hard work spoke for itself through her grades.

She rubbed her face and then glanced around the library – she noticed a small group of older Ravenclaws huddled quietly at a far table. She put her chin in her palm and sighed to herself. There was a Quidditch game today against Hufflepuff and Slytherin, so she  _knew_  that's why Alphard wasn't here. He, like all the other boys, was absolutely  _bonkers_  about the sport. Hermione frowned to herself. Tom thought Quidditch was a waste of time, so she wondered what had made him a no-show for the study session planned for today.

One of the older Ravenclaws made eye contact with her and gave her an odd look, which made her realize she had been staring at them unintentionally. Hermione blinked quickly and shook the thoughts out of her head. She picked her quill back up.

She was fine. She studied more efficiently by herself, anyway.

That's what she told herself, at least.

* * *

After searching high and low for Hermione Granger's family and turning up empty handed, Albus Dumbledore had finally decided to covertly peek into her mind to see if there were any traces of her mind being tampered with. It was always easy to see if a mind had been obliviated. An obliviated mind was full of holes – full of gaps. The only problem was…Hermione's mind had no holes. He needed to think of something else.

His mind wandered to the thought that maybe she had lost her memory by non-magical means. It was completely plausible, but he wasn't sure how he could test this theory. He wasn't familiar with muggle medicine or health practices, so he wasn't even sure where to begin, other than to speculate.

How bothersome.

* * *

No one in the Slytherin common room was in the mood to celebrate after their loss against Hufflepuff, hence the sullen atmosphere. It took only seconds for Alphard to notice Tom sitting at the letter writing desk in the common room. As he walked over to him, he noticed several open books in front of Tom and he was scribbling across parchment. Alphard rolled his eyes. As usual, Tom was in his own little scholastic bubble. He walked over to Tom and leaned against the wall next to the desk.

"I'll never understand why you'd prefer to do homework on a Saturday over watching a Quidditch game," Alphard said with a grin.

Tom didn't look up or stop writing when he said in a bored tone, "Compare our grades, Alphard, and then you'll understand why."

"Point taken," Alphard muttered, scratching his head. His eyes widened when he realized the time. "Say, you didn't happen to meet up with Hermione, did you?"

At this statement, Tom stilled his writing for a heartbeat before continuing again. "No. Was I supposed to?"

Alphard frowned at him in confusion. He knew they always met up on Saturdays after lunch to do some sort of assignment, or to study. "It's Saturday."

"And?"

" _And_  we usually meet up in the library to do homework?" Alphard asked as a question, though it was meant to be more of a statement. Tom was acting odd. Well,  _odder_ than he usually acted. Now that he thought about the topic, Tom had been acting odd for several weeks now. Hermione was usually tied at Tom's hip, but lately…

" _No_. I just sit there and  _read_  while I listen to Hermione explain the same thing to you  _five times_  before it finally sinks in," Tom bit out.

Alphard winced.  _Ouch._

"Well,  _I_  wasn't even there for Hermione to explain things  _five times_ to me _,_ as you put it. You  _still_  could have shown up. She's probably furious with us now," Alphard stated.

"She'll be fine."

"I  _know_  she'll be fine. I'm more worried about  _us_ ," Alphard trailed off, suddenly distracted by the sight of Druella Rosier screeching at her twin brother and smacking him up against the back of his head.

"You little  _crook_! You  _know_ Mother sent those chocolates for me!"

Damien jumped up from the armchair he had been sitting in, his face turning red when he yelled at her, "I'm her child,  _too_ , you cow! She sent them for  _both_  of us!"

Alphard grinned at the sight before him, immensely enjoying the distraction. Tom, however, didn't have the same enjoyment. Alphard's grin fell from his face when Tom pushed his chair back to stand up and look at the quarreling siblings with his cold, level gaze.  _Oh, no_.

"Are you two quite done making a spectacle of yourselves? It's embarrassing."

The abrupt transformation from shouting to silence was jarring.

The twins stiffened at Tom's words, mumbled their apologies, and sat back down. Tom's stern gaze lingered on them a bit longer than what was necessary before he sat back down at the desk to continue his work.

Alphard still couldn't figure out how Tom could command a room the way he did. Some of the older children even listened to him – he wasn't even thirteen yet.

Some people were blessed with the gift of influence, he guessed.

* * *

Success never slept.

Tom wished that he didn't need sleep, either. There was so much to do – so much to accomplish – if he was going to get them out of the orphanage by the time they graduated. Getting them out had taken precedence over acquiring Hermione's memory and researching the ring. Not being able to perform  _any_  magic over the summer had been utterly  _agonizing_.

Also, Hermione's hovering when other people were around drove him  _mad_. She never said it outright, but he knew that she was always afraid that he was going to do something to the other children at the orphanage and get caught. He wished she'd have more faith in him.  _Of course_  he wouldn't get caught.

Tom shifted on his bed and felt the ring slide across his chest. He'd nicked a simple, silver chain from one of the older Slytherin girls to slide the ring on to wear around his neck. It was much easier to hide and keep track of this way. The ring felt cold, heavy, and  _dead_  against his chest as of late - only thrumming to life during some of his classes.

He rolled onto his side and held the ring in his fist against his chest.

Tom knew that she'd understand his absence once he was done achieving his goals.

She'd be grateful.

* * *

Spring had conquered winter. Hitler had conquered France. Grindelwald had conquered the headlines of the Daily Prophet. Hermione thought there was far too much conquering going on lately. It was upsetting.

Hermione sat by herself underneath a tree by the Black Lake, absentmindedly watching the giant squid's tentacles flicking dragonflies hovering above the water. She threw the blades of grass she was peeling apart angrily, and watched them float by the water's edge.

A leftover tear that started making its way down her cheek was furiously wiped away. Frowning, she thought of the conversation she'd had with Tom not even an hour ago. All she wanted to do was talk with him, but instead he acted like she was an annoyance – a bother. Why was he being such a prat?

Euphemia was rather blunt when she said that her mother told her that boys acted strangely around this age, with puberty and all. Hermione was beginning to think that Euphemia's mother might be onto something.

Hermione crossed her arms in agitation, and leaned against the tree behind her. Puberty wasn't an excuse – he was still a bloody prat. If he wanted to ignore her, then she could do the same. She had other friends who actually  _enjoyed_  her company.

* * *

Tom was  _trying_  to read the book Alphard let him borrow before the Hogwarts Express arrived at the station, since he wasn't allowed to bring any magical texts to the orphanage with him.  _Trying_ being the key word in this situation. He was too distracted by Alphard and Hermione across from him in their compartment.

They were huddled together, looking at a card they had gotten from one of the chocolate frogs Alphard had bought from the trolley lady. Alphard then made a joke about the wizard on the card looking like a constipated toad. Hermione laughed until there were tears in her eyes.

Tom couldn't figure out if his hands were trembling because of the irritating display in front of him, or because of the sudden tightening in his chest.

* * *

Much of their summer involved chores, church, porridge, and moments of hesitant conversations. Hermione was inclined to ignore Tom as he had ignored her, but he was oblivious of her intent. She wasn't aware that he was perfectly content with her taciturn company.

They sat in silence across from each other in the mess hall, each lost in their own thoughts and their own supper. They would be boarding the Hogwarts Express in the morning to start their third year. Hermione was working out her potential class schedule in her head. Tom was working out who he could potentially utilize as a stepping stone to his success.

After their meal was finished, they cleaned up their table in silence. They left the mess hall together in silence. They walked side by side down the hallway to their respective rooms in silence. Right when they were about to turn their separate ways is when all Hell broke loose.

The air raid sirens started wailing their haunting melody in the distance.

Tom and Hermione stopped and turned to each other. He didn't hesitate at all as he grabbed Hermione's trembling hand and ran them through the orphanage. Other children had joined them on their flight downstairs to the designated bombing shelter. There was crying and trembling bottom lips and panic all around them. They were halfway down the stairs when the first bombs made impact two blocks away. They both stopped and grabbed the banister as it shook the entire orphanage. Bits of plaster dislodged from the ceiling, leaving a dusty trail spiraling down, down, down around them.

"Tom," Hermione choked out, her voice laced in terror. His hold on her hand tightened.

"We need to get down to the cellar.  _Now_."

Hermione said nothing as he continued leading them downstairs and through the hallways, bumping into other children along the way. Edward was making his way through the hallway, waist-deep in a sea of terrified children, yelling commands and checking rooms for stragglers. The sirens continued blaring their song of destruction.

They were almost there when another set of bombs were dropped. Hermione and Tom lurched forward and fell when the bombs made their impact nearby. He scrambled up first and hauled her to her feet, practically dragging her to the cellar door. Martha was in the doorway, frantically ushering the children inside.

Tom found a small space between two wooden crates against the wall that wasn't occupied. He quickly sat down in the space and pulled Hermione in with him. She was sobbing. He was shaking.

Without another thought, he pulled Hermione onto his lap and forced her head against his shoulder with his hand. He held onto her tightly and began to sway. Another sob overtook her trembling body as she attached her arms around him like her life depended on it.

"Tom, I'm scared."

Tom swallowed and admitted quietly, "Me, too."

More bombs exploded, further away this time. The sirens persisted. It continued this way for two entire hours. The longest two hours of their lives.

Not once, in those two hours, did he let go of her. Not even when the All Clear siren sounded.

Tom Marvolo Riddle never wanted to feel this vulnerable ever again.

* * *

**A/N:**  I may have cried writing the last scene. I highly recommend finding a clip of air raid sirens from WW2 on Youtube, and then reading the last scene again. Air raid sirens are the scariest sound in the world to me. I got chills. I know that  _technically_  the blitz started a week after they would have started school, but I've been wanting to write this scene since the beginning.

Anyway, thanks for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. You guys are the freakin' bestest.


	8. Victims of Privilege

**A/N:** Their third year has begun. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos. They essentially fueled this chapter to be finished far sooner than I had anticipated. Well, that, and the fact that there have been technical issues at my work, giving me much more free time than usual.

 

**Disclaimer:** Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don’t own Harry Potter.

 

* * *

 

The aftermath of the bombings felt surreal.

 

The smell of smoke stung their nostrils and burned their lungs. There was rubble littering the streets. Spires of smoke were circling up toward the sky. Dust and soot were covering the parked cars on the side of the road.

 

The most disturbing part of it all were the sounds; or lack thereof, in this case. This part of London wasn’t the busiest part, but it was still busy, just the same. The sidewalks were normally always filled with people walking, or vendors pushing their carts to sell their wares on an early Sunday morning. Wealthier families normally drove their A Models to church.

 

But not today. No cars were driving. No paperboys were selling the Sunday paper for a two pence. No one was going to church. Instead, there was the sound of men working together to move rubble. Instead, there was the sound of people shouting out names, searching for loved ones. Instead, there was the sound of lost children wailing for their mothers.

 

Tom and Hermione stood there together in the haze of the aftermath of war. The only words that were spoken between the two of them weren’t verbalized. Hermione sought Tom’s hand. He didn’t pull it away when she found it.

 

A young boy, around five years old, was sitting by himself on an empty stoop, crying. His tears cut a clean path along his soot-covered face.

 

Tom followed Hermione’s eyesight. He shouldered the worn, leather knapsack onto him with his free hand. He gently tugged at her hand and said, “Let’s go.”

 

Hermione nodded once. She looked at the young boy once more before they left. Hermione’s heart broke at the sight.

 

And with the birth of another sunrise came the birth of another orphan.

 

* * *

 

“Tom! Hermione!”

 

They were on the platform for less than a minute before Alphard found them. His normally long, messy black hair was even messier than usual, and his eyelids were red-rimmed.

 

Once he reached them, he pulled them both into a gripping hug for a moment. He kept one hand on Tom’s shoulder and the other on Hermione’s before pulling away to take a quick inventory of their worn appearance. Tom’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden display of worried affection, but said nothing about it.

 

“My parents told me about what happened last night! I was so worried. I was going to send an owl, but then I realized that would be kind of pointless. Are you two alright? What am I saying? You’re standing right in front of me. Of course, you’re alright,” Alphard was just rambling at this point.

 

Tom shrugged Alphard’s hand from his shoulder and said, “Calm down, Alphard. We’re fine.”

 

Alphard stilled and reined himself in. “Oh. Good,” he said awkwardly.

 

Both boys were a bit shocked when Hermione threw her arms around Alphard and began crying. Alphard looked at Tom questioningly, but Tom’s face was blank and his mouth wasn’t inclined to answer. Alphard wrapped his arms around her and smoothed her hair out soothingly, trying to calm her down.

 

“Hermione?” he asked.

 

She pulled away from him and wiped tears and snot from her face with the handkerchief Alphard handed her.

 

“Sorry. Rough day,” she said. She tried to smile, but it was lame.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Alphard said, smiling down at her and mussing up her already wild hair. She grinned up at him.

 

Tom got their attention by clearing his throat. He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head toward the train. “We should probably board.”

 

“Right!” Alphard said, and his demeanor changed to his usual mischievous self in a heartbeat. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and said, “I’m gonna buy us so much junk food to eat that we’ll all want to vomit when we lay our eyes on dinner tonight!”

 

Hermione laughed at Alphard’s light-hearted nature and let herself be dragged along. It’s what she needed in order to forget.

 

Tom quietly followed behind them.

 

* * *

 

Their compartment was an absolute disaster. The benches and floors were littered with empty boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans, chocolate frog wrappers, empty bottles of butterbeer, and Tom was _quite_ certain that Hermione was sitting on pumpkin pasty crumbs.

 

Alphard hadn’t been lying when he had said that he was going to buy them sweets for the train ride to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, he _had_ been lying about the whole vomiting bit: Alphard hadn’t lasted until dinner – he’d only lasted an hour before he had to scramble out of the compartment and run to the loo.

 

Tom had huffed out his nose in a silent laugh at the sight. As much as he despised the mess around him, he got satisfaction out of Alphard’s nausea.

 

“It’s not funny, you know,” Hermione said, and waved her wand to clear away the mess. “Much better,” she said to herself.

 

Tom’s mouth twitched in amusement. “It’s a _little_ bit funny. He has no self-control, honestly.”

 

She smiled and agreed with him.

 

Tom went back to reading the latest copy of the Daily Prophet. The news about last night’s events in Muggle London had made the front page.

 

“I don’t want to go back there.”

 

Tom looked up to see Hermione staring at the paper. She looked distraught. He wasn’t sure what he should say to her. His vision focused on the blurred green scenery flashing by them outside as he thought.

 

“Maybe we don’t have to,” he said vaguely, narrowing his eyes as his brain labored away.

 

“You’ve worked out all the details of your plan?” Hermione asked, sounding hopeful at the proposition of leaving Wool’s.

 

“Most of them, yes.”

 

No. Not even _one_.

 

“What _is_ your plan?”

 

“Don’t worry about it for now. I’ll tell you in June,” he said. Tom shook out the newspaper to read again, showing her that the conversation was over. He wasn’t ready to admit that he hadn’t figured out _any_ plan yet.

 

Hermione frowned and was about to open her mouth to say something smart, when the door slid back open. Tom had never been more thankful to see Alphard Black before.

 

Alphard looked green in the face. He pointed a shaking finger at the small pile of cauldron cakes and said, “ _Don’t_ eat those ones. They’ve gone all _dodgy_.”

 

Tom stared at the cakes and raised his eyebrows. “Duly noted.”

 

* * *

 

The sound of glass bottles clanging together that came from the disused lavatory off Glanmore Peakes’ Corridor on the sixth-floor distracted Tom from his task. Professor Dumbledore had told him to fetch a dove from the bird cage in the barely used corridor to use for an assignment.

 

There were hushed voices coming from behind the door, then more clanging, followed by a string of curse words. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. Tom drew out his wand and threw the door open, unsure of what he was going to find.

 

His yew wand found itself being pointed directly at Abraxas Malfoy and Lowell Lestrange. The loss of their wands from Tom’s well-placed disarming spells made their eyes go wide with shock. Tom’s gaze landed on the crate of glass bottles filled with amber liquid the boys had been lugging to the other side of the lavatory.

 

Tom pocketed their wands, raised his eyebrow, and said slowly, “Really? Smuggling cases of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey into a school? I’m sure your parents would be so… _proud_.”

 

“Stuff it and mind your own _business_ , Riddle,” snarled Abraxas.

 

“I believe I just _made_ it my business, Malfoy.”

 

“Give us our wands back and _sod off_ ,” spat Lowell.

 

“I don’t believe that I will, Lestrange. You see, I imagine that we can come to some sort of…agreement,” Tom said slowly, his eyes glinting with opportunism.

 

The older boys looked at each other and then looked warily back at Tom. They knew they’d been caught, and they knew it was highly probable that they would get expelled over this. Abraxas swallowed and said, “What _sort_ of agreement?”

 

There was the sudden sound of hobbled footsteps coming from down the corridor. The corner of Tom’s mouth curled up in satisfaction before he said, “A favor for a favor. I’ll have your backs, if you have _mine_. A mutual… _understanding_.”

 

Lowell scoffed and said, “Like we’re going to listen to _you_. You’re a bloody _third_ year.”

 

The panic increased on Malfoy’s face as the footsteps came closer. His father would have his head on a platter if they got caught. Tom had a malicious grin on his face and said, “I guess beggars _can_ be choosers, after all.”

 

“Fine. Agreed,” Abraxas growled quietly. Lowell gaped at him.

 

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me right-” Lowell started to say, but Tom shut the door and didn’t hear the rest. He couldn’t bring himself to care, either. He positioned himself in front of the bird cage just in time for Professor Slughorn to come into view.

 

“Tom, m’boy! What are you doing up here?”

 

Tom’s performance of the pleasantly surprised school boy could have won an award.

 

“Oh, good afternoon, Professor. I was just up here getting a dove for an extra credit assignment for Transfiguration,” Tom said smoothly.

 

“Hah! Always the diligent student, aren’t you, Tom? Are you sure you even _need_ that extra credit?” the Professor asked.

 

Tom pasted a modest smile onto his face. “All good things are attained by hard work and diligence, sir.”

 

“Right you are, Tom. Right you are,” the older man chuckled. He slapped a hand down on Tom’s shoulder and smiled at the boy before saying, “Right! Well, I won’t keep you. Good luck on your assignment; although, I know you won’t need it!”

 

Tom smiled and said thank you to the man before he started walking away. He then opened the bird cage and gently cupped a dove in his palm. He whispered to it while stroking the top of its head with two fingers, watching in mild fascination as the bird’s eyes closed as it fell asleep. He slowly set the dove in his robe pocket.

 

After Professor Slughorn was out of view, Tom threw the lavatory door open and said to the wide-eyed boys, “I’ll let you know when I’ve come to collect my favor. We’ll be in touch.”

 

He tossed their wands to the stone floor in front of them, and didn’t bother closing the door behind him when he walked away. They gaped at him.

 

Tom _hated_ them; those poor, _pathetic_ victims of privilege. They had _money_ and _family_ and _excellent_ connections in the wizarding world; and how do they use it? By smuggling _firewhiskey_ into a school.

 

He would be better than them. He _swore_ to it.

 

* * *

 

The Advanced Charms book that Hermione was flipping through didn’t have much information on memory charms. Well, it had information on memory charms, but nothing she hadn’t already tried before. She shut the book, leaned back in her chair, and started rubbing her temples.

 

“Are you having technical difficulties?” Tom mused.

 

“Maybe,” she said while she glared at him, and continued to rub her temples. She sighed at his amused expression and said, “I’m just sick of reading books and trying charms and drinking potions and getting _nowhere_.”

 

He didn’t need her to tell him what she was talking about. He already knew. “We’ll figure things out eventually.”

 

“Eventually isn’t soon enough, Tom. I want to remember _now_. I wanted to remember _yesterday_ ,” she paused and chewed her bottom lip for a moment before continuing, “Maybe, if I remember, we can _both_ go stay with them. I’m sure if they knew the circumstances, they wouldn’t mind.”

 

He was silent for a few moments, letting her words sink in. The prospect of leaving the orphanage was great, but he wanted to do it on _his_ terms – not have to rely on more strangers to do that for him. He also didn’t _want_ anyone else taking care of her – he was perfectly capable of doing that himself. A thought came to him.

 

“What if they’re the sort of people you don’t _want_ to know?” Tom asked cautiously.

 

Hermione thought quietly for a few seconds before replying, “Not liking them and not knowing them are two totally different things. Sure, they could be horrible people – the worst. Maybe they’re the reason why I can’t remember them. But what if I spend the rest of my _life_ not knowing, Tom? I’d rather remember them and not like them, than not remember them at all.”

 

Tom went from looking at her to looking at the open book laying in front of him. Even though he was looking at it, he wasn’t seeing it.

 

Just like she wasn’t seeing the solution to her problems that was right in front of her.

 

Maybe her loss of memory made her blissfully unaware.

 

* * *

 

Hermione startled Tom out of his thoughts when she plopped down next to him in their Potions class.

 

“It’s June 1st,” she said expectantly.

 

He looked at her like she was ignorant and said, “Yes. Astute observation, Hermione.”

 

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “You _told_ me you’d tell me your plan in June. _It’s June_.”

 

Oh. _Blast_.

 

“You take the things I say too literally,” he evaded.

 

“Only because you _say_ them too literally, Tom,” she countered.

 

“I suppose you have a point there,” he muttered loud enough for only her to hear it, then continued, “Just be patient. Haven’t you heard that good things come to those who wait?”

 

Hermione leaned back in her chair and glared at him. He had meant to tell her to _knock it off_ , but he found himself momentarily distracted by her pout that accompanied that _stupid_ glare of hers. Hermione looked at him oddly. He quickly shook himself out of his daze, and started setting up his work station.

 

Tom found himself reciting the brewing instruction to the assigned potion in his head.

 

_Add one Bezoar to the mortar and crush into a very fine powder with a pestle. Add four level measures of the Bezoar powder into the cauldron._

She was still looking at him.

 

_Add two level measures of Standard Ingredient into the cauldron. Turn the heat to a medium temperature for five seconds._

She leaned toward him.

 

_Wave your wand over the cauldron in the pattern specified in the diagram._

She dropped a small, purple pouch with the rest of his ingredients.

 

“Here. I saw you forgot the Mistletoe Berries,” she said, giving him a friendly smile. She got up and walked back to her seat.

 

Tom stared at the pouch in front of him. His heart felt like it was racing, but he quickly attributed it to the ring pulsing against his chest.

 

Was he going mad?

 

* * *

 

Tom looked at the two older men in front of him with a smooth, outward look of pleasant indifference. Inside, though, he was seething.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Riddle. While I completely understand your concerns, and the complications of going back to London for the summer, I’m afraid that I cannot offer you and Ms. Granger refuge at Hogwarts. The school will be closed then,” Headmaster Dippet said solemnly.

 

Tom swallowed his rage and asked, “Are there no other alternatives?”

 

“I believe I may have a solution, Armando,” Professor Dumbledore said. He had remained silent during the course of the conversation up until now.

 

“By all means, tell us, Albus. I’ve no ideas to offer,” the older man said.

 

“From what I understand, many families in London have begun sending their children to the countryside to live with host families until things have…settled down,” the professor said.

 

Tom stilled, feeling annoyed that he hadn’t been aware of that important information. He would have preferred being on their own, but the memory of the sirens, of her crying, and of his vulnerability forced him to swallow his arrogance.

 

Dumbledore continued, “I can arrange something with Mrs. Cole, if you would like to -”

 

“Yes,” Tom interrupted. Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised up in mild surprise.

 

Headmaster Dippet smiled and clapped his hands together once. “Excellent! It’s settled then. I believe this is a perfect alternative – much safer for the both of you, too.”

 

Tom plastered a charming smile on, thanked the two men, and left Headmaster Dippet’s office.

 

Not a _perfect_ alternative, but it was better than dying. He was beginning to wish that immortality wasn’t limited to just vampires.

 

Tom paused midstride and tilted his head in consideration. _Was_ immortality limited to just vampires?

 

* * *

 

Hermione thought that the tags fastened around their necks said they were being shipped to Cornwall, but she couldn’t be sure. It was difficult to see through the gas mask that Edward had made them wear. It made her face hot, and the rubber mixed with disinfectant smelled terrible. She hated it.

 

When they arrived at their designated platform, Edward pulled his mask up so that he could speak. It hadn’t taken Hermione long to find out that the mask made rather… _rude_ noises whenever someone tried to speak while wearing it. The noises always made the boys at the orphanage laugh.

 

“Looks like the two of you are going to a town in Cornwall,” he picked up the tag hanging around Tom’s neck to read it. “Your host family is the Roskesta’s. From what Mrs. Cole said, they own a small farm on the coast.”

 

Tom nodded once. Edward dropped the tag, ran a hand through his hair, and said longingly, “Sounds like you two got the luck of the draw. Right on the coast? I bet the fishing is first-rate.”

 

Hermione shifted on her feet, feeling anxious. She just wanted to board the train and leave – and take the dreadful mask off. Edward sensed her restlessness and ceased his reminiscing.

 

“Right, well…your train arrives at 10:10am, sharp,” he glanced at his watch, “Bloody Hell! We got here just in time. It should arrive in five minutes or so. I’ve got to get back, so I’ll leave you two to it. You can manage to find your train on your own, right?”

 

“Yes,” came the muffled sound of Tom’s voice.

 

“Great. Good luck, you two. Don’t get into too much trouble,” Edward said before turning around to leave them there.

 

The moment Edward was out of view was the moment that Tom ripped his gas mask off.

 

“Tom!” Hermione started but stopped when the rude noises started coming out. Her face was an embarrassed shade of red when she lifted her mask up and continued, “We’re not supposed to take them off! What if the German’s drop a gas bomb right on top of us?”

 

“Then I’ll put it back on.”

 

Hermione was about to scold him again when she saw their train rolling into the station. She let out an indignant yelp when Tom snatched her mask off her head and shoved it into their knapsack along with his.

 

“Tom!”

 

“What?”

 

“Ugh. Never mind,” Hermione crossed her arms and glared at the train.

 

Tom smirked, openly enjoying her agitation.

 

* * *

 

The Roskesta family was alright. They expected Tom and Hermione to pull their weight around the farm, and in exchange, they were taken well care of. Mr. Roskesta’s favorite meal was Mrs. Roskesta’s boiled dinner, so that was what was for supper at least three nights out of the week.

 

Edward had been right about the location – the farm was right on the coast. They could see the waves crashing on the beach down the road from the window on the second floor on a clear day. They frequented the beach often in their free time. Hermione still liked combing the beach for shells and other little creatures. Tom still didn’t participate; but he would accompany her, and read one of the few Muggle books that the Roskesta’s had.

 

Tom’s gaze lingered up from the book and he watched Hermione. Her sleeves and dress were rolled and tucked to help prevent it from getting wet, but it did little good. She was wading in the ocean up to her knees, peering into the water. Her hair was wild and windswept. His heart started doing that _odd_ thing again. He forced himself to look away from her and back at the pages.

 

He put his head in his hands and groaned quietly when he realized that none of the words were registering.

 

* * *

 

It had been simple. So…incredibly…simple. A stroke of genius, really. Wasn’t that what the definition of genius was? Gellert Grindelwald was especially great at taking multifaceted situations and manipulating them into something simpler.

 

The multifaceted situation being world domination. The manipulation being using _ignorant_ Muggle leaders starting war with each other to his advantage.

 

It was practically child’s play infiltrating the Nazi ranks with his own army. A few well-placed memory charms and Imperius curses were all his soldiers needed to succeed in the endeavor.

 

Gellert smiled to himself. It was quite adorable that Hitler thought that _he_ was the one in charge here.

 

Quite adorable, indeed.

 

* * *

 

**A/N** : Dun-dun-duuun! Why, yes. Grindelwald is _totally_ going to be in this story. I’m excited for what I have planned, and I can’t wait to write his scenes. Is anyone else excited to see more of Grindelwald in Fantastic Beasts? Because I know that I am.

 

Also, I need to say that updates and fan art will be slowing down a bit after this update. Probably once every two weeks, maybe more, maybe less. Fall semester starts, plus I’m working on another Tomione fic for a writing prompt that I’m SUPER excited about! I can’t wait to share it with you guys, but that won’t be until the new year.


	9. The Promise

It  _would_  have been a lovely last day in Cornwall, if the blasted pigs hadn't escaped out of their pen -  _again_. This time was far worse, since it had rained the day before. The salty winds from the coast had blown the humidity away, but left behind pockets of puddles everywhere instead.

Tom was thankful that no one was around to spectate the sad state Hermione and himself were both in. They were filthy with muck, and smelled of the rotten vegetable from the pig slop.

They had just finished wrangling the last pig in, when a piglet ran between Hermione's legs to escape out the gate. Tom knew that the piglet wouldn't make it, since he was standing right at the gate to close it, but Hermione didn't. She spun so quickly that she almost lost her footing, but it wouldn't have mattered. She panicked and practically  _threw_  herself forward to catch the squealing piglet – and missed. Instead, she caught a face full of mud.

Tom felt his chest convulse violently before he lost all control. He had to hold himself up against the gate, he was laughing so hard.

Hermione used her dirty hands to wipe the mud away from her eyes, and said, "You  _vile_  person! A real friend would help me up - not laugh at my expense!"

Tom composed himself enough to offer her a hand, then said, "Incorrect. A real friend would laugh at your expense and  _then_  help you up," he pulled her up before continuing, "Besides, you're fine."

"Fine? I'm so filthy that you can't even tell what color my trousers are," she muttered to herself, taking in her appearance.

"You smell repulsive, too," he joked sarcastically.

She gave his arm a half-hearted shove, and said, "You're so  _rude_."

He raised his eyebrow, and smirked at her. "Come on. I'm  _not_  chasing after them again. Let's climb over the fence."

After they made their way out of the pen, they made their way to the house to wash up. Mrs. Roskesta was taking her frustration out on the hallway rug with her favorite wooden rug beater. When she took in the sight of the pair of them, she nearly had a heart attack at the thought of them setting foot in her freshly mopped entryway.

"The pigs escaped again," Tom stated – feeling that further explanation was not necessary.

"Oh,  _no_. I will  _not_ be having you trailing the pig sty behind you in  _my_  home! I'll grab your toiletries and you can wash up down at the beach," she sputtered. Tom and Hermione watched the plump, rosy-faced woman scurry inside. She was muttering to herself about clean floors, and disinfectant.

"The beach?" Tom spat out in disgust. He  _hated_  the ocean.

"Oh, honestly. The water isn't that bad. It's a little chilly, but very refreshing," she paused long enough to sniff herself, " _Lord,_ I smell  _awful_."

Tom snorted. "I told you that you did. You didn't believe me?"

"I was remaining optimistic that you were just exaggerating."

"I don't exaggerate," Tom said seriously.

Hermione was saved from replying, because Mrs. Roskesta walked back outside with a single bar of soap in her hand. "We're running low on lye, so you'll have to share this."

Hermione knew that Tom wasn't fond of having to share things, so she accepted the bar of soap graciously on their behalf.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Roskesta. We'll be back soon," Hermione said. She reached for Tom's mud-covered hand, and pulled him toward the dirt road that led to the shore.

The day where they weren't constantly relying on others would never come soon enough for Tom. They had to rely on strangers for everything: food, clothing, shelter, education… _soap._  He  _hated_  being so vulnerable.

Tom had been so lost in thought that he hadn't realized that they were still holding hands until they were almost there. He felt his ears go warm. He broke their handhold by going to run his hand through his dirty hair. Hermione mistook his nervousness for something else entirely.

"It's not  _that_  bad, honestly," she encouraged.

Tom stilled and he looked at her blankly. Had he insulted her by letting go of her hand? She didn't _look_  upset. He watched her gaze flit to the waves.

"I'll never understand why you don't like the ocean," she said offhandedly, but then realization dawned on her. She gasped and said, "You can't swim, can you?"

Tom felt himself relax a little. Hermione had mistaken his nervousness for his dislike of the ocean. Then his pride felt wounded when her words finally registered. "I  _can_  swim, thank you very much."

"Oh, good," she said cheerily, then began taking her shoes off.

Tom  _hated_ being dirty, but he hated the ocean even more. His hatred of the ocean really stemmed from hatred of the unknown. He couldn't see his feet. He couldn't see the little crustaceans crawling around. He couldn't see the fish swimming between his legs. He couldn't see them, but he could  _feel_  them. Tom wasn't afraid of the creatures in the water – he simply didn't like the unknown. He liked knowing things. He wanted to know  _everything_.

Tom also wanted to know why Hermione was taking her linen overshirt off. "What in the  _world_  are you doing?" he hissed at her.

Hermione stilled, halfway to lifting the shirt over her head. She stared wide-eyed at him, and asked hesitantly, "Washing up?"

"Nude? What if someone  _sees_  you?" he snapped at her.

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink as her eyebrows came together at his tone. "Of  _course_  not," she said indignantly. She pulled the rest of the shirt over her head. She threw it on the sand, only breaking her defiant gaze at him when the shirt had blocked her view.

Tom's ears burned again when the sight of a defiant Hermione clad in only a small undershirt, and muddy trousers was standing in front of him.

Hermione could be so maddening sometimes. She made his blood boil. He was beginning to question why he even put up with her antics when she suddenly unbuttoned her work trousers, pulled them down, and kicked them off to the side.

Tom's eyes widened, and stared at her in shock. A defiant Hermione, clad in only a white undershirt and bloomers, was standing in front of him.

"I am  _not_  nude, Tom Riddle. You're being an  _idiot_ ," she stated in an agitated tone. She gathered her dirty clothes, and walked down to the water to begin rinsing the mud off them.

Tom felt the heat rise to his face in irritation. Did she really consider him an imbecile? He kicked his shoes off, and walked over to her, making sure to stay out of the water.

"Did you really just call me an idiot?"

Hermione was waist deep in the waves, scrubbing the clothing together in her hands. She didn't bother looking up from her task when she said, "I didn't stutter."

Tom clenched his fists at his sides, his mind warring with itself on what to do about her audacity. He normally got back at other people by hurting them, but this was  _Hermione._  She was the only person who was  _anything_  like him. As tempting as the idea was, he knew that shoving her head under the water a few times wasn't a viable option. She would never speak to him again. Or, she would shove  _his_  head underneath the water at her earliest convenience.

"I dare you to say it again," he said dangerously. Tom watched her duck her head underneath the waves for several moments to wash the mud off her face. The sight of her coming back out of the water caused his breath to solidify in his throat. He couldn't understand why, but his mind was whirling, his heart was pounding, and his pulse was racing. Say it, say it,  _say it_. He knew her well enough to know what she would  _say it_. He  _wanted_  her to say it.  _Give me a reason._

Hermione leveled her eyes on his: a challenge, "You, Tom Morvolo Riddle, are…an… _idiot._ "

Tom didn't know what he was doing when he crashed into the ocean toward her. He didn't know what he was doing when he tore her dirty clothes out of her hands, and threw them toward the shore. He didn't know what he was doing when he grabbed her face roughly, curling his fingers in the wet strands of hair behind her ears. He didn't know what he was doing until he leaned down, and collided his lips against hers.

The kiss started off rough, sloppy, and wet. Hermione was so shocked that she grabbed onto Tom's sides of his shirt to keep her balance. After the shock had worn off, Hermione closed her eyes, and hesitantly kissed him back.

Tom's overactive brain shut off once Hermione started kissing him, and then instinct took over. His hands slid from her face to her waist, pulling her closer to him. Warmth spread through him. His pulse was blasting in his ears. His chest felt like it was dipped in resin, and lit on fire. The ring hanging against his chest sung at her nearness.

Tom slowly pulled away, but kept his face close to hers. He watched in fascination as his hand trembled slightly as it ghosted over the bare part of her shoulder. His attention was brought back to Hermione's face when he heard her breathe in sharply.

He placed a slow, soft kiss on her lips once more before saying quietly, "I'm  _not_  an idiot, Hermione."

"I know that. You made me angry," she whispered, still in a daze. Her daze was broken seconds later when she noticed something floating several meters away. Her eyes widened in surprise. "My clothes!"

Tom let go of Hermione, and dove into the water to swim after her runaway clothes. After Tom had acquired them, he made his way back to Hermione. She was still standing in the same spot, but now she had her arms wrapped around herself. Tom frowned.

"Are you cold?"

"A little," Hermione said, avoiding his eyes. Her face was flushed.

"Let's go. I think Mrs. Roskesta will let us inside the house now," Tom said, reaching for her hand. She offered it to him.

The last day in Cornwall had turned out to be a lovelier than it had originally begun.

* * *

The first month of fourth year at Hogwarts had come and gone. Hermione and Euphemia were grinding a large supply of mandrake root for the school nurse, Madam Stewart, in Slughorn's empty classroom. Autumn had brought a dreadful cold that had run rampant throughout the school, leaving her supply of Pepper-Up potion at a dangerous low.

The girls offered their services that Sunday morning to help replenish the supply, earning a combined thirty points to Gryffindor. They would have done it, regardless of the incentive. Lyall was in the infirmary again. Excessive vomiting, and excessive…well,  _other_  excessive stomach issues. Hermione knew the Pepper-Up potion wouldn't alleviate  _that_  problem, but it would help with his other symptoms.

"I'm rather glad that Professor Beery had already cut the mandrake root before we showed up. I cannot  _stand_  their belligerent screechin'," Euphemia said while grinding her pestle with a little more force than necessary. Hermione smiled at her friend's comment.

"You aren't the only one," Hermione agreed. She set down her pestle, and poured the freshly crushed root into the leather satchel Madam Stewart had given them. She tested the weight of the satchel before adding more mandrake root into her mortar. "I just hope that this will be enough."

Euphemia made a face. "Are you joking right now? After we're done grinding this pile," she motioned to the mound of mandrake root on the far side of their work table with her hand, "there will be enough Pepper-Up to last for  _years_."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Euphemia. "Don't be so dramatic, Euphie. There's enough here for thirty – no, maybe  _forty_  potions."

"Same thing," Euphemia grumbled. "I swear to Merlin and Morgana, if Lyall lands himself in the infirmary  _again_  before the school year ends, I'm going to strangle him."

"Wouldn't that just be counterproductive?" Hermione asked humorously.

Before Euphemia could reply, the classroom door was pushed open.

"Professor Slughorn! I have a question about – what are  _you_  two doing here? Where is Professor Slughorn?" Druella Rosier practically spat at them, narrowing her eyes in accusation.

"Oh, don't concern yourself with Professor Slughorn. We're just disposing of the evidence now. Don't mind us," Euphemia said dryly. Druella's mouth went thin and her eyes went wide. Hermione wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to Euphemia's dark sense of humor.

"Euphie," Hermione warned, before turning her attention back to the Slytherin girl. "We're just helping Madam Stewart prepare potion ingredients. Professor Slughorn stepped out shortly after we arrived."

Druella's lip curled in disgust at her answer. Hermione couldn't understand why, but Druella Rosier seemed to hate her more and more with each passing year. Fourth year was no exception.

"It's not enough that you have to be the teacher's pet, is it? Got to be the school nurse's pet, too?" Druella asked spitefully.

Hermione's pestle froze mid-crush and she stared at the scowling girl in front of her. What had her knickers in a twist?

"Be careful, Rosier. Your jealousy is showing," Euphemia grinned.

Druella's pretty face flushed pink. "I am  _not_  jealous of  _her_!"

"Are you quite certain? Your behavior toward me isn't exactly sending the message that you're trying to relay," Hermione stated confidently, raising an eyebrow.

"I am  _not_  jealous of  _you_ , Granger. If anything, I feel  _sorry_  for you. An ugly, little orphan with no family, no money, and no  _future_. No respectable wizard is going to want to marry  _you._ No wonder you focus so much on getting top grades – that's the  _only_  hope you have of making it anywhere in this world," Druella sneered hatefully. Her sneer had been wiped clean off her face by the wand leveled at her nose.

"I feel sorry for  _you_ , Rosier. After we graduate, at least I'll have a chance at getting a decent career. I'll have my own money, my own freedom, my own  _independence_. But  _you_? You'll probably be trapped being a little housewife to your second or third cousin," Hermione said coldly, her wand not wavering once. A little part of her chest twinged at being so cruel, but something in her snapped after Druella's equally cruel statement. It made the twinge manageable.

Druella crossed her arms over her chest, and suddenly looked smug. "I'd rather marry my second or third cousin than be anything like  _you._ "

"What exactly is  _that_  supposed to mean, Rosier?" Euphemia asked darkly. Hermione wasn't sure she liked where this conversation was going.

"Oh, you know  _exactly_  what I mean,  _Fawley_ ," Druella spat at Euphemia, then gave Hermione a once-over in disgust. She smiled cruelly. "I'm honestly surprised no one has said it sooner. They probably feel sorry for you, since you're so  _nice_. A nobody from a Muggle orphanage?" Her cruel smile fell away, and was replaced by an icy look. "Even your last name is  _boorishly_  Muggle."

"You'd better stop runnin' that mouth of yours, before I stop runnin' it for you," Euphemia warned.

"You can't tell me what to do, Fawley," Druella ground out.

"What exactly are you implying, Rosier?" Hermione asked, her wand still pointed at the girl.

"Hermione," Euphemia exasperated. Hermione and Druella ignored her.

Druella's head snapped back to Hermione. Her normally pretty features twisted into something ugly. "What I'm  _implying_  is that you're a  _Mudblood_ , Granger."

"How  _dare_  you –" Euphemia started, but didn't get to finish her sentence. Hermione interrupted by rearing her closed fist back, and punching Druella square in the face at full force.

The dark-haired girl stumbled back. She threw her hands up to her face, and howled in pain. She brought her shaking fingers away from her nose, and gasped when she saw they were smeared with blood. Druella looked at Hermione in indignation, and said, "You  _broke_  my nose, you crazy bint!"

"Maybe that'll teach you to keep it out of where it doesn't belong," Hermione said calmly, but her nostrils were flaring in fury.

Druella was shaking in a quiet rage, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides. "I'm going to tell Headmaster Dippet! You'll be expelled!"

Hermione lowered her wand, but didn't put it away. Was the girl that dense? "Go ahead. Don't forget to tell him  _why_  I broke your nose. You know how Headmaster Dippet feels about blood supremacy. I'm sure your conversation with him will go  _swimmingly_."

The Slytherin girl's eyes went wide at the realization.

"Get lost, Rosier," Euphemia said.

"You'll pay for this, Granger. Mark my words," Druella's voice shook as she affirmed her threat.

"I'll consider them marked," Hermione said sarcastically.

The Gryffindor girls watched Druella storm out of the Potions classroom, not bothering to close the door behind her. The girls put their wands away. Euphemia turned to Hermione.

"I cannot  _believe_  you  _punched_  her!"

Hermione frowned slightly, shook her right hand, and tested her fingers. They hurt. "I can't, either. I didn't mean to. She just made me so…so… _angry_."

"Well, she  _deserved_  it, Hermione! Don't believe a single word that girl says. She's a right foul bitch, she is," Euphemia said. She picked up her pestle, and began crushing away at the mandrake root as if nothing ever happened.

Hermione grimaced. "While I agree with what you said, I don't agree with your language choice."

Euphemia rolled her eyes at Hermione. "Alright, goody-goody. Whatever you say. Can we just finish this? The juice coming out of these things are making my fingers look like Dippet's saggy backside."

"Oh, my… _Euphie_!"

The grin on Euphemia's face was positively impish. "What?"

* * *

The news of Hermione Granger punching Druella Rosier in the face had spread through the student body like Fiendfyre. Most of the students didn't care for the impetuous girl, including some from her own house. She'd gotten more congratulatory remarks over the incident than she was proud to admit.

Hermione jumped when she felt a strong arm snake it's way over her shoulders.

"I just heard! Didn't know you had it in you, 'Mione!"

Hermione turned her head up to see the mischievous Alphard Black grinning down at her. She felt absolutely  _mortified_  about punching Druella _-_ no matter how good it had felt at the time.

They walked by a small group of sixth year Slytherin's in the corridor. Several of them looked at Hermione in disgust, and made a show of turning their heads away.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the  _only_  bit of gossip that had spread through the school. Alphard took note of his fellow housemates' attitude. He must have heard the rumor Druella had spread about her being a Muggleborn.

"Ahh, just ignore those lot. They can't prove a thing. No one who matters cares what they think, anyway," Alphard reassured her.

"I suppose you're right. I really didn't mean to punch her, though," she insisted.

Alphard winked at her. "Of course, you didn't."

"Alphard…" she warned.

"Fine, fine," he muttered. He quickly grew excited. "Merlin, I cannot  _wait_  to tell Tom!"

Hermione's face felt like hot embers at the mention of Tom's name. She hadn't seen much of him since the new school year started. They'd both taken on a full course load for their fourth year, leaving very little free time. They hadn't been in each other's presence for more than ten minutes since the summer, aside from classes. They had both discussed, and agreed, that taking more classes would be more beneficial to them in the long run.

Tom had also told her that more classes looked good on parchment, but that's not the only reason why she had decided to do it. She loved learning  _everything_  she could about the wizarding world. While they both had a sense of fierce ambition, it was sometimes for different reasons. She knew Tom wanted to make a name for himself, and considered himself anything but ordinary. She'd known that since she met him. Tom really  _was_  special.

She thought back to when Tom had kissed her. Her face went from feeling like hot embers, to feeling like a steady fire. There were times when she thought of it, and she wondered if it had really happened, or if she had just been dreaming. The kiss happened over a month ago, and not once had it been mentioned. Anytime she looked at him, it left her feeling puzzled. How did he think of her now? Why had he kissed her?

"For what it's worth, hardly anyone believes her. You and Tom have  _always_  been at the top of every class in our year. You're both  _brilliant._ There's no  _way_  the two of you could be Muggleborns," Alphard reassured her.

For some reason this rubbed Hermione the wrong way. She shrugged her shoulders to push Alphard's arm off. The grin on his face faltered at her hard look as they came to a standstill in the empty corridor.

"Are you trying to imply that Muggleborns are incapable of being brilliant, Alphard?" she asked, feeling the same cinders of rage from earlier being sparked to life again.

Alphard frowned, and scratched the back of his head nervously. "No, of course not. What I was  _trying_  to say is: what are the odds of the two brightest students in our year being from the same Muggle orphanage? Null. None. The two of you have a natural aptitude with magic that isn't seen with the other Muggleborns at Hogwarts. It was meant to be a compliment, not a slight. I  _swear_."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously for a few seconds. Then her shoulders relaxed and she sighed. She missed Alphard doing the same.

"I'm sorry, Alphard. I guess I'm wound a little tight from this morning. Will you forgive me?" she asked.

"Of course. What are best friends for?" he joked, then pulled a wrapped chocolate frog out of his robe pocket. He began unwrapping it.

Hermione smirked. She plucked the frog out of his hand right after he unwrapped it, and took a bite.

"Hey!" Alphard complained.

"Best friends are for providing delicious chocolate, of course," Hermione's smile couldn't be hidden behind her chewing mouth.

Alphard's face went from grinning to serious in a heartbeat. Hermione became concerned at the sudden change. She stopped chewing when Alphard brought his hand up to her face. He slowly rubbed his thumb at the corner of her mouth.

They both jumped when they heard someone clear their throat.

"Am I…" Tom started, and looked from Hermione's mouth, to Alphard's hand, then to their faces with a raised eyebrow before finishing, "interrupting something?"

Hermione was beyond thankful that she wasn't blushing at Tom's blatant insinuation.

"Nah, she just had a bit of chocolate on her face. Our Hermione isn't exactly the cleanest eater, is she?" Alphard said jokingly, and wiped the chocolate from his thumb onto his trousers. Hermione glared at him. He continued, "Anyway, I'll catch up with you guys later. I promised Orion that I'd help him with his Charms homework. You know how helpless first years are. See you!"

Hermione and Tom watched him retreat down the dimly lit corridor. Tom didn't say anything – he just looked at her. There was no expression on his face for her to decipher, so she had no idea what was going through his head. She shifted awkwardly on her feet, feeling uncomfortable being alone with him. She remembered the  _last_  time she was alone with him.

The rest of the chocolate frog was beginning to melt in her hand, so she timidly brought it up to her mouth to finish eating it.

"I heard about what happened today," he started conversationally.

Hermione took her time chewing, thankful for the extra time to formulate a reply. Why was she overthinking things? She'd never been nervous around Tom before, so why start now? She straightened herself up, and licked the remaining chocolate from her lips, hoping she hadn't missed any. Tom remained silent as he watched her.

"About that…" she started, but a laughing group of younger students running by them distracted her. When she turned her attention back to Tom, he was standing right in front of her. She was so startled by his sudden presence that she jumped.

Tom picked up one of her curls laying against her collarbone, seemingly fascinated by it. His nose scrunched up in displeasure. "I don't know whether to be  _appalled_  by your actions," he dropped the single curl, and watched it bounce back into place. He had started to slide his fingers up her arm as he continued, "or applaud you for them."

Hermione visibly shivered at the contact. Tom's eyes found her face. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"She wasn't being pleasant," Hermione said confidently, trying her best to ignore his wandering hand.

Tom moved his hand up further, and gently pushed her hair off her shoulder. "Druella Rosier is  _never_  pleasant. What did she say,  _Hermione_?"

Hermione's breath had begun to shallow once his fingertips began tracing up the side of her neck. She licked her lips. "She called me a Mudblood," she exhaled.

Tom's hand flinched from her neck like it was made of coals. His handsome features twisted into something disgusting. He looked livid. "She called you a  _what_?"

"Not here," she shushed him.

His icy glare leveled on her. He wasn't keen on getting shushed by her.

Hermione's stomach flopped. Oh, she knew that look  _well_. She turned her head around, and noticed they were alone. Hermione didn't want to take any chances. Using her hand, she grabbed Tom by the elbow, and pulled him into an alcove partially hidden by draperies. Once they were inside, she turned on him.

"Don't you  _dare_  do anything to her, Tom."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"You're right.  _I can't._  But I can tell you it would be highly illogical to do anything  _dramatic_ ," she murmured.

He scowled at her, and said, "I am not  _dramatic._ "

She rolled her eyes, and put her hands on her hips. "Not dramatic?  _Please_. I still don't know  _why_  you did it, but feel free to explain to me, in detail, how hanging Billy Stubbs' rabbit up to rot wasn't  _dramatic._ "

Tom's mouth opened and closed, struggling to find the words he wanted to say. Finally, his lips formed a fine line and his eyes narrowed on her. "How long have you known?"

"Since I first laid eyes on you in the mess hall the day it happened."

Tom's eyes widened in surprise. How was she always so perceptive? Hermione took his temporary silence as an admission.

"Like I said:  _dramatic_ ," Hermione stated in smug satisfaction.

His nostrils flared in agitation. "Do you not understand what she's  _accusing_ you of, Hermione?"

His words felt like a physical assault, and made her pull back. "Yes. She's accusing me of being a Muggleborn."

" _Exactly_. You're  _nothing_  like them, Hermione.  _We're_  nothing like them," Tom whispered harshly.

Hermione didn't like his tone. "I don't understand what you're trying to say, Tom. Is there a difference? Muggleborns can use magic, too."

Hermione began to frown when Tom started chuckling softly. He sighed, and put his hand over his face as if he was trying to wipe away his annoyance. "Never mind."

"Oh, no. Don't you dare tell me to 'never mind'; and don't you  _dare_  do something stupid, and get expelled," she pointed a finger at him.

Tom grabbed her wrist, and yanked her to him, causing her to yelp in surprise. He brought his forehead against hers, his dark, grey eyes staring into hers intensely. "And don't you  _dare_  call me stupid again," he breathed against her lips.

"I  _didn't_  call you stupid. I said don't  _do_  anything stupid," she said, desperately fighting to dam the blood rushing to her face at his proximity.

Tom shrugged and said, "Same thing." He then allowed his hands to travel up her arms, over her shoulders, up, up, up the sides of her neck, until his fingers curved into the curls behind her ears.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Hermione," he stated quietly.

Hermione had lost the ability to form coherent sentences, and simply nodded. Tom's lips slowly moved against hers as his thumbs traced along her neck and jawline. She wasn't sure what to do with her hands, so she decided to mimic his movements.

She slid her hands over the front of his sweater vest, and toward the back of his neck. It must have been the right thing to do, based on the way he began to kiss her with a more enthusiasm.

His hands had gone from gently holding her face to urgently pulling her up against him by her waist in a heartbeat. He moaned into her mouth when her fingernails scraped against his scalp. It was then that they broke away for air.

Hermione refrained from showing her shock at the look on Tom's face. He'd never looked at her like _that_  before – like he might swallow her  _whole_. She barely had time to register the look on his face before he dove back in for more, but registered quickly enough to meet him halfway.

They were a bundled mess of lips and limbs and teenage hormones. Hermione felt her back bump up against the cold stone of the alcove. She went rigid when she felt Tom's hands begin to slide underneath her shirt, and graze against her hips. She brought her hands down to cover his, and pulled away from his lips.

"That's enough," she breathed out, giving his hands a squeeze. He nodded in understanding, but said nothing. They took a few awkward moments to straighten their clothes and hair.

Hermione glanced, and noticed him staring at her again. She knew he hadn't forgotten their previous conversation. She hadn't, either.

"I broke her nose. That's enough revenge for me."

The corner of his mouth tugged up. "You also gave her two black eyes."

Hermione looked horrified.

Tom took a step toward her, and pushed a curl out of her face. "I won't seek revenge on her. I promise."

Her shoulders slackened at his words. She hadn't realized how much weight she'd been carrying on them until it had been lifted.

"But you have to promise me something in return."

She felt her shoulders tense back up, as if they were preparing for a whole new weight to be dumped back onto her. "What is it?" she asked warily.

Tom tilted his head to the side as he watched his thumb slowly drag along her bottom lip, and rested it against the corner of her mouth. His level stare that traveled from her lips to her eyes held no warmth.

"Promise me that you'll never let anyone else touch you the way that I touch you," he said quietly.

"Tom?" she frowned in concern. Why was he acting like this?

"Promise me, Hermione. Promise me, and I won't do anything to her for what she called you," he said in the same tone, smoothing his palm against her cheek. She found herself closing her eyes, and leaning into his hand.

He always kept her safe.

He was familiar.

She clung to it.

"I promise."

He smiled.

* * *

A/N: I had planned to post this yesterday, but...well...life. *shrugs* I wanted to get one last chapter in before the Fall semester starts today. Fourth year is going to span  _at least_  one more chapter - maybe two. If anyone wants to follow me on Tumblr, I finally made an account! My username is ninjafairy86. For right now, I'm mostly using it to showcase my nerd art, so of course my Tomione stuff will be posted there. ;)

Anyway, thanks for the comments and kudos. It's what sustains me - without them, I would perish.


	10. Paroxysm and Plums

* * *

Paroxysm and Plums

* * *

If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. That's what dear, old Auntie Bathilda used to say, anyway.

Using careful precision with what little light he had in the frosty shack, he coiled three copper wires together. After adjusting the clockwork fuse on the time delay mechanism, he stood up, and admired his work. There, at his feet, was an unmarked time-delayed bomb the size of a small child. It was absolutely  _stunning._

The time was drawing near; he needed to leave. He took one last look at the hunk of green metal sitting inconspicuously behind a barrel, and smiled a merry smile. The barrel was filled with gunpowder – a nice, little convenient bonus, if he did say so himself.

Under the concealment of the disillusionment charm and the dusk, he left the shack, and walked into the cover of Swiss pines at the forest's edge. Crunching fallen pinecones underneath his boots as he went, he continued up the slope of the hill until he got to his vantage point. Once he got there, he sat down on a moss-covered boulder, and waited.

Gellert hadn't been required to wait for very long, before a middle-aged man with greying hair, blue eyes, and wrinkles etched deeply into his forehead hobbled into his view. He was lugging a small canvas bag over his shoulder.

"I was beginning to think you had become lost, Nicolae," Gellert said, seemingly amused.

"Aye, bet you wish I had now, didn't ya?" Nicolae said jokingly, and dropped the bag down at his feet with a thud. He began to rifle through it. "From the looks of it, seems like the Romanian troops have already rationed the hell out of Odessa. I couldn't scrape together much. Ah, here we are."

Nicolae tossed two plums to Gellert, who rubbed the fruit skin against his coat before taking a bite. He savored the sweet tanginess of the juice before saying, "I can assure you, Nicolae, that whenever I think of this night, I will think of plums; and whenever I take a bite of a plum, I will think of this night."

Nicolae gave Gellert a strange look before shaking it off. Gellert was always cryptic – Nicolae wasn't the type of man that was interested in needing to dig too deeply into what he was really trying to say. Nicolae grabbed an apple, and sat down on the boulder next to Gellert.

"Everyone is in position?" Gellert enquired.

"Yes, sir," Nicolae answered, then took a bite out of his apple. After he was done chewing, he asked, "So, what do we do now?"

Gellert leaned forward as he slowly chewed the last of his plum, his eyes trained on the shed in the distance. Next to the shed was the building of the Romanian troops' headquarters. He knew that the Romanian general, along with several Romanian officers, were holding a meeting with a group of German naval officers at that very moment.

There had been civil unrest in the town of Odessa for two months; so, why not use that civil unrest to his advantage? It was easy, really, to take a complicated situation and make it simple. That  _is_  what the definition of what genius was, after all.

Plant the bomb. Bomb explodes. Romanian and German officers die. Jews in Odessa get blamed. Muggles kill each other. Chaos follows.  _Enjoy the show, folks, and don't forget to tip your waitresses._

Gellert threw the plum pit into the bushes, stood up, and never took his eyes off the shed. "We wait patiently, Nicolae. We wait patiently."

Nicolae didn't get a chance to wait patiently. There was a fiery explosion at the bottom of the hill that sent rubble, wood, and smoke flying everywhere. The pine trees swayed violently from the shockwave. Nicolae was thrust from his seat on the boulder, and onto the ground.

Gellert embraced the pulse of the shockwave with open arms. He felt  _intensely_ alive.

The alarms blared their warning.

The surviving officers screamed in agony.

The air smelled of petrol fumes, ignited gunpowder, and the sulfurous odor of burnt hair.

Gellert beamed down eagerly at the display. He  _adored_  controlled chaos.

Also, he wasn't very good at waiting patiently.

* * *

Tom liked to think that he was a patient person. Well, when things were within his sight and reach, anyway. If he knew that something was going to be attained within a certain period of time, he was good at biding it. So, whenever Hermione wasn't within his sight, nor within his reach, he became impatient - anxious.

That was the precise reason why he'd assigned Lestrange and Malfoy to the task of keeping an eye on her, since he was far too busy to do it himself. Lowell Lestrange had complained about having to babysit her, but the well-placed elbow from Abraxas had shut him up rather quickly. Perhaps Malfoy wasn't as dimwitted as he'd appeared. Tom appreciated usefulness.

So, off they went to the last Quidditch game of the season before the Christmas holidays – Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff – to keep an eye on Hermione. Tom's upper lip twitched. He didn't particularly care for Lyall Lupin. He was too… _chummy_.

Alphard had told him that Hermione wouldn't be happy if she found out that he was having her being followed around.

Tom had told Alphard that he wouldn't like him very much if he opened his big, fat mouth about it again.

That's why he made certain to specify to Malfoy and Lestrange that discretion was vital. He couldn't promise their safety if Hermione caught them. He smirked at the memory of the look on their stupid faces when he'd told them that. She'd earned herself a… _reputation_  after the whole incident with Druella Rosier, but only he knew that she was essentially harmless. Fiery, stubborn, bossy, brilliant – but harmless.

She was all those things and she was  _his_. He wished he could keep her locked up in a neat, little box for safe-keeping forever but he knew she'd never allow it. How he  _wished_  she'd allow it. Tom raised his eyebrow in speculation. Maybe, one day, he would force her to allow it. Maybe.

Tom laid the Daily Prophet out in front of him on his lap. He was deeply concerned by the latest turn of events in the Muggle world. It seemed as if hundreds of people were dying every single day. They were safe at Hogwarts, for now, but how safe would they be during the summer? What if they couldn't go back to Cornwall? What if the Nazis dropped bombs over London again? What if they had  _nowhere_  else to go?

Thinking about that day, the day of the first Blitz, made his stomach clench. They'd almost died. He'd almost died.  _She_  had almost died. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how they lived in a world filled with magic and unlimited possibilities; yet, they were limited to mortality.

Tom sneered at the thought of impermanence, which led him to think of his mother. His plain, weak,  _pathetic_  mother had died giving birth to him. Something as simple as giving life to her child had simultaneously taken hers away.

He frowned, and shook his head slowly.  _No_. He would be  _stronger_ – he would be  _better_. He was different. He was special.

The moving photographs on the newspaper were mocking him with their displays of death. A scowl formed on his face. He crumpled the newspaper into a ball, and angrily threw it into the common room fireplace. A few of his housemates gave concerned looks, but didn't dare to ask him what was wrong.

If they had, he wouldn't have known what to say. He wouldn't have been able to articulate what he saw in his mind's eye when he stared into the fire.

He wouldn't have been able to verbalize that he saw them, himself and Hermione, wearing striped clothing, being mistakenly herded with Muggles into a large room.

He wouldn't have been able to express that all he saw was gas being released from the vents in the room, as he watched the bodies drop one by one.

He wouldn't have been able to say that all he saw was Hermione's lifeless body lying, convulsing, in a mass of bodies in the gas chamber - her amber irises clouded. The corners of her mouth plagued by foam.

Even though he was right next to the fire, he felt like ice.

* * *

"Alphard, I require your assistance."

"We've been friends for how long, Tom? Four years now? No need to be so formal about it," Alphard joked.

The corner of Tom's mouth twitched – blink, and you would've missed it. "Fine. I need your help, you great bastard. Is that better?"

Alphard nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. He hadn't been the only one with a similar issue – Damien Rosier, Ewan Avery, Abraxas Malfoy, and Lowell Lestrange all faltered either mid-bite or mid-sip of their meal. After Alphard controlled his coughing, he asked, "Did you just make a joke?"

Tom reached over to scoop a spoonful of mash onto his plate. "Was it inadequate?"

"Far from it, mate. I'm just so shocked that I don't know whether to laugh, or not," Alphard said.

"Let's get back to the topic at hand, shall we? I'm doing a sort of…side project of my own. Call it an academic curiosity. I was wondering if you had any texts on ancient artefacts at your home that you could bring back with you after the hols," Tom said as he finished filling up the rest of his plate.

Alphard rolled his eyes, and snorted. "Of course, it would be  _books_ that you require. You're seriously worse than Hermione."

The mention of Hermione caused Tom's eyes to travel to the girl across the Great Hall. There she was, at the Gryffindor table, nose buried in a book. The small smirk that appeared on Tom's face as he watched her continuously miss a spear of broccoli with her fork as she read didn't escape Alphard's notice. Alphard shook his head slightly. The boy had it bad, and he didn't even know it, the poor sod.

"Yeah, sure. I bet my parents have something like that stashed away in our library," Alphard said, bringing Tom back to reality.

"Consolidate your search down to jewelry, if you will," Tom added.

Lowell grinned, and waggled his eyebrows at Tom. "Plan on gettin' lucky, eh?"

Tom's expression deadpanned at the boy. "Excuse me?"

Lowell failed to see Alphard motioning frantically for him to stop while he was ahead.

"You and Granger, yeah? Everyone knows that women are more… _appreciative_  when given jewelry, if you know what I mean."

The insinuation flew over Tom's head like a bird. "No, I'm not getting her any jewelry. Why would I do that? As I just  _stated_ : this is for research."

"Riiight," the boy said suggestively.

"Hey, Lowell?" Damien asked.

"Yeah?"

"Shut the hell up, you dolt."

Lowell's face turned red. Alphard sighed. Thank Merlin for Damien Rosier, and thank Merlin that he was  _nothing_  like his bloody sister.

Ewan spoke up meekly, "My dad works in the Ministry, Tom. He uh… _oversees_  keeping track of dark artefacts for the Aurors, so to speak. I know he will have books about that kind of stuff. I could bring some books back for you, too."

Tom turned his attention to Ewan, who looked somewhat anxious to have Tom's attention. Tom's look of mild indifference was replaced by an approving smile. "Excellent, Ewan. Bring back anything that might be useful."

Ewan's body language went from meek to confident at Tom's praise. Validation.

On the inside, Tom was grinning ear to ear. He'd already known what Ewan's father did for a living, of course. He'd already known that Ewan's father would have the books he needed, too. Tom had also already known that Ewan was practically  _dying_  to demonstrate his worth to him, and he used it to his advantage.

The primary instrument for manipulation laid within words. Tom had found out long ago that if you could manipulate the meaning of your words, then you could manipulate the people who heard them.

Tom enjoyed playing the instrument of manipulation and he played it well.

* * *

When he found her, she was on her knees underneath her favorite tree by the lake. His heart skipped a beat at the sight before him. Her head was bowed and her hands were clutched in front of her face. He knew what she was doing and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. He squatted next to her quietly, and tilted his head to the side. Her lips moved with a wordless prayer.

"What are you doing?" Tom questioned.

A small twinge of satisfaction sprang to life in his chest when she jumped in surprise, and fell back on her bum. Hermione dusted the Spring grass off the front of her skirt as she stood up.

"What did it _look_  like I was doing?" She snapped half-heartedly, face burning at being caught like she was an orphan caught pilfering stale bread. Tom smirked. At least  _half_ of that statement was true.

He ignored her question, and her attitude by running his fingers through her curls. "Why were you doing it?"

He watched in a morbid sort of fascination at the way her eyes fluttered closed at his touch. It was like wielding a completely different kind of magic. "Today has not been a good day. I needed it."

His hand stalled for a moment in her hair.  _No. Me. You need me. Only me._  That's what he had wanted to say, but he didn't. "And why is that?"

Hermione sighed, and pulled away from him so she could pick up her books lying in the grass. "For many reasons, Tom. I'm a bit tired, so I'm not sure I have the mental capacity to talk about it right now."

Tom's face scrunched up in distaste, and spat out, "So, you had the mental capacity to tell a false  _deity_  your problems, but you can't tell  _me_?" Even  _he_  almost winced at the bitterness in his words. Almost.

Hermione's tired expression twisted into one of annoyance. Tom knew that look well. It made him excited when he saw her like this. It made him feel alive. It made him feel  _in control_. If he couldn't fully control what she did, then he would take enjoyment out of controlling her emotions. It was a natural high that he could never get enough of.  _Go ahead. Do it._

"You wouldn't understand. Just because  _you_  don't believe in God, doesn't mean that  _I_ must do the same," she retorted.

"You're always such a good little girl, aren't you, Hermione?" he scoffed. He watched in giddy anticipation as her nostrils flared.  _More, more, more._

"At least  _I_  don't pretend to be someone that I'm not," she mocked.

Tom's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed at her. He hadn't been expecting that. Temper flaring, he asked quietly, "What is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

Hermione tossed her wild curls over her shoulder, and smirked. "I think you know  _exactly_  what I mean."

The sound of his teeth grinding together echoed in the depths of his ear canals. This wasn't how he wanted things to go.  _Take control._

"Maybe you should specify."

Hermione gave him a superior look. "I know you better than anyone else in the entire  _world,_ Tom."

The superiority tumbled off her face once Tom wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and pulled her to him roughly. Her books dropped back to the grass with a soft thud.

"Oh, do you  _really_  know me better than anyone else, Hermione?" he said condescendingly, while his palms held her waist in place.

" _Yes_ ," she shot back, staring up at him defiantly – amber eyes ablaze.

He shuddered faintly, and licked his lips subconsciously.  _There it was._  The high he craved. Without another thought, he lunged down, and apprehended her lips in a kiss.

The way she kissed him back, and the way her hands touched him always made him want  _more_. More of what, he did not know. He  _never_  knew. He didn't like not knowing. He wanted to keep her, and keep these moments between them, locked up and away, away,  _away_ for only him to experience. Only him. Only ever him.

Tom pulled away from Hermione and he brought their foreheads together. "You drive me mad. Have I ever told you that?"

"You might have mentioned it once, or twice," she stated off-handedly, sliding her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes fluttered closed when her nails dragged across his scalp. Tom exhaled, then opened his eyes to look at her again.

He liked the way she looked at him. He liked how important it made him feel. He liked it whenever she praised him. He liked it when her attention was only on him. The focus – the center.  _Make me your world._

What he didn't like, however, was how she held so little confidence in what he was capable of. She put her faith in a fake god, but put little faith in him. He didn't like how she felt like she couldn't rely on him. Did she consider him inadequate? He would never admit it, but he was afraid that she just might.

He shoved the fear away in favor of picking up her books, and tucked them underneath his arm. He could do many things that a sham of a  _god_  couldn't do for Hermione – one of them being that he could carry her books for her. He mentally scoffed. God couldn't even carry her books for her.  _Utterly useless_.

"Alphard's mother sent him chocolate truffles this morning. Let's persuade him into sharing, shall we?" he asked mischievously, pushing his previous thoughts to the back of his mind.

Hermione smiled at him, her nose crinkling, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Yes, let's."

Tom would never admit to feeling fear. Fear limited your vision. Fear fortified doubt. There was no room for doubt; therefore, there was no room for fear. It was best to push it back to deal with for another day; or, to not deal with at all.

Deferment was an excellent coping mechanism.

* * *

The task at hand required delicacy. Not of the emotional type, thank  _goodness_ , but of the physical type. Tom carefully turned the yellowed pages one by one, concerned that the brittle pages may disintegrate through his fingers. This  _particular_  book had to be at least one-hundred years old – maybe older.

As of yet, it had held his best chances of the information he was searching for - information on the ring hanging from his neck. His bane. His treasure. His lifeline to Hermione.

Ewan Avery had done well in retrieving the book he required. There was no title printed on the spine – no author flaunted the cover. It was plain and old and decrepit. It was  _perfect_.

Well,  _nearly_  perfect. If he hadn't held so much respect for the blasted thing, he would have slammed it shut, and thrown it across the room. It held nothing that he needed.  _Nothing._ The restraint he showed when he gently closed the book, and slipped it back into the special box that had accompanied it should have been applauded.

Alphard was sitting on his bed, looking through the books he'd brought to help with the research. Although Alphard didn't know  _why_  he was doing the research, he had wanted to help. While he didn't necessarily trust Alphard completely, he trusted him enough to be competent in helping. Tom watched as the other boy slid his long fingers through his jet-black hair while he read.

Tom's nose scrunched up in distaste. Alphard needed a haircut – a year ago. He'd never understand why he wore his hair like that. He looked like some vagrant.

"Have you had any luck so far?" Tom asked conversationally.

Alphard lifted his head up to look at him, and shook his head. "Nah. Nothing on clock rings. I found a few passages about grandfather clocks being used to hide personal belongings from thieves, but that's it."

Tom's brows furrowed slightly in disappointment. His mind wandered in thought while Alphard closed his book, and stretched. "Well, I think I'm gonna head down for dinner a bit early. You coming?"

Tom blinked several times, and turned his head to look at Alphard's expectant face. He slowly nodded his head. "Yes, but you go on ahead. I'm going to read for a few more minutes. Save me a cup of hot chocolate."

Alphard shrugged. "Alright. See you in a bit."

Tom nodded without looking at him, and opened another book. He heard the door shut. His head lifted to see that Alphard had indeed left. He let himself fall back on his bed, and stared at the ceiling. He felt frustrated. This wasn't going how he had anticipated.

Reaching his hand into his shirt, he pulled the necklace above his face. The plain, brass ring hung from the chain, swirling back and forth,  _taunting_  him.

His eyes narrowed at it. Maybe he should just get rid of it. Hermione hasn't mentioned the damn thing  _once_  in all the years he'd known her, so it must not be  _that_  important. His fingers wrapped around it possessively, and frowned.

But, then again, she'd lost her memory. Maybe she didn't even remember being in possession of it to begin with. His frown dissipated, as he stared at it again. It was his. It was his prize. It was his reminder.

With his final decision being made, he tucked it back into his shirt, and sat back up.

He would keep it - even if it held little value. Even if it did  _absolutely_  nothing, aside from drive him batty. Although it didn't work, it served at least  _one_  purpose – one comfort.

That one comfort being that low thrum, that beautiful song, that glorious  _life_  that hummed against his heart whenever she was nearby. He took that comfort for  _his_ , and refused to share it with anyone else.

Tom narrowed his eyes at the impression on the bed where Alphard had been sitting.

He also refused to share her  _attention_  with anyone else. He'd found her  _first_.

* * *

The leaves filtering out the light above had provided the right amount of protection from the sun. That is, until an unexpected gust came through, and caused the branches to sway. Then, at those times, the sunlight would cause temporary blindness. In those moments of blindness, it was far easier to close your eyes.

That swaying branches reminded Hermione of the instability of their world right now. Not just one war, but two. No matter where they went, they were in danger. War was exhausting and the last day of school was the reminder of it.

Ignorance was bliss.

Hermione turned her head toward the castle. The grass tickled her cheek. Hogwarts was safety. Hogwarts was a haven. Hogwarts was sanctuary.

She turned her head back up to the filtered light, and pondered. She thought of that boy they had seen on the stoop back in London last year – that crying boy – and wondered what he was doing right now. Was he cold? Was he hungry? Was he digging through a trash bin in an alley? Or, was he scrubbing the tin plates at the orphanage? Hanging the laundry?

This world was a bitter place. Hermione wanted to make it sweeter. She blinked, and frowned. Was it possible for a single person to accomplish this? She wanted to be naïve, and believe it was so, but she wasn't certain.

Another gust blew. Hermione was forced to close her eyes again. Uncertainty was just another facet of life.

The definition of certainty, for her, didn't come in the form of words. It came in the form of warm, slender fingers interlacing with hers. She smiled – not needing to open her eyes. She knew, because he was familiar.

"Hello, Tom."

The feeling of fingers brushing her cheek, and of gentle lips on hers was his greeting. Then, he settled his back on the grass next to her. It was warm.

She turned her head to look at him. His face was tilted back and his eyes were closed. "Are you packed?"

There was a groan, and an arm was thrown over his eyes. "Don't remind me."

Hermione gave him a sad smile that he did not see.

She turned her head back up to the branches. A strong breeze caused the branches above them to dance wildly, and let in too much sunlight. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

Tom didn't need to close his eyes from the sun. His arm was already covering them; therefore, he did not see.

The sun couldn't blind you if you refused to look.

She tightened her hold on his fingers.

If ignorance was bliss, then this familiarity was ecstasy.

* * *

Note: First of all, I want to apologize that this has taken  _weeks_ to update. Then, I want to apologize that it will probably be another few weeks before I can update again. This semester has been brutal, and it has only begun. Plus, I was in the direct path of Hurricane Irma. When I say 'direct path', I mean the eye of the storm passed directly over my house. It has been a  _rough_  couple of weeks. But, hey, we're alive and our home is fine. We lost power for a couple of days. Why did I move to Florida again? Oh, yes. Beaches.  
  
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this. Thank you.


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